Invulnerable Tides
by Minnaloushe
Summary: Tailed by an assassin, a feral lunatic, and Gawd-knows-what-else, a tempermental Southern rogue and a Cajun thief and charmer of dubious motives have to work together to survive- assuming they don't kill each other first.
1. Remy

Disclaimer: It's Marvel's. Not mine. Unfortunately. If it was mine, I wouldn't have allowed whatever on earth is going on in that Rogue mini-series- such as Remy being blind, for reasons unknown to me, and then suddenly unblind, and Rogue going off with dream-guy, after accidently being hit by blinded Gambit trying to hit the guy she was about to kiss, while he nearly gets himself killed running out into the street (and she doesn't go after him!)and chases after a different Rogue who appears out of nowhere and who he can see- and if anyone who happens to reading this can explain that, to a humble soul who has to wait for the graphic novels to come out and the library to get them unless I read everything on the shelves when in Walden Books, it'd be deeply appreciated. And if I just horribly confused you, none of that has anything to do with my story and just ignore my rantings and move on. Plus, I can't hate them too much 'cause they finally dropped Bobby and put Rogue with Gambit in Ultimate X-Men. So that's okay.

A/N: Well, hi. I'm not exactly new to fanfiction, as I've been on for about a year and a half, and do have a story published under a friend's name under Harry Potter because it was one I told to my brother and sister and when I wrote it down, it received a nice response, so there's that. And I think it's improved my writing a lot, but it's not done, so, shush, don't tell anyone I'm here. Especially not my mother, as I'm supposed to be studying for midterms. But I wanted to try my hand at this, sincethese charactersfascinate me and I love writing. I live and breathe by words, in books and anywhere else. I don't know what anyone who reads this will think of it, maybe you'll hate it, maybe you'll like it, I'd like to know either way. I had an idea I thought was fun and decided I'll write it, and I'll continue to write it, except if I get absolutely no response I probably just won't bother to post it. But any reviews would be very, very nice. Though I'm not one to talk, as I'm now going around desperately trying to review all the stories I read while stuck after school all fall (which I shortly will be again, for even longer, with the musical at the guy's school down the street) and can't review because they can track anything outgoing even faintly resembling an e-mail, or an attachment, or saving a story to a computer, because we have a crazy computer teacher evil lady who stalks the schools. And when I'm all alone at my school, nearly an hour's drive from home and waiting for a bus, breaking into classrooms is so easy when I really want to read something. So if you're reading this, there's an even chance I've read your story and a review from me (now that I have the Internet! And a shiny computer all for me!) will be showing up with apologies sooner or later.

Anyway, this is pretty much an AU, though not by too far, as you'll probably figure out within a chapter or two. The factor that changed things a lot won't be too hard to figure out once it get going. I hope I'm not overly confusing, or too subtle or unsubtle, but it was fun to write and my next chapter is this close to being done. So, maybe, with any luck, you'll enjoy this. Or not, but be honest, please. Though not bitingly cruel, just honest. What you like, don't like, flat out. So, read, and review, if you don't mind.

Oh- secondary disclaimer: I did something I never, ever do, but I did. This one Ultimate issue I read in Walden Books while flipping through one of the graphic novels really highly influenced this chapter. Not that Ultimate's my favorite, or that I've read enough of it to know much about it- just #1,7,8 (not the comics, the collections) and the recent ones I managed to skim. Completely from my memory, I half reconstructed a scene from one or another, since I really liked it and wanted to use it, as it kind of gave me the idea. The first one about Gambit, 'you never forget your first love' or something like that. Just a bit of it, since I really liked a few of the lines. And I paraphrased a few lines from the novel Scaramouche, since my father says it's got the best opening line in all of literature and that George Lucas stole it's ending for Empire Strikes Back (which, if he ever read it, he completely did). I'll never, ever do it again. Swear. Just don't kill me for stealing it. If you've never read that issue, ignore everything I just said, since I didn't take that much, anyhow.

Okay- here it goes:

He was born with a gift of laughter, and a sense that the world was mad. And that was all his patrimony, excepting only the strange witchery that made his eyes burn like flames against a starless night. His very paternity was obscure, although his neighbors in the city of his upbringing had long since dispelled the cloud of mystery that hung about it. When a man of considerable wealth and reputation, for no apparent reason, announces himself the appointed guardian of a boy fetched no man knew whence, and thereafter cares for the lad's rearing and education, the most unsophisticated of the neighbors - and it must be granted, in this particular region, such were very few- perfectly understood the situation. It was only, surely, for the sake of his wife, God rest her soul, that the boy had not been brought forth sooner. His skill was such that it could not be doubted he was truly the son of the so-called King of Thieves. As the cleverest could grasp, he _was_ the son of Jean-Luc LeBeau- in every sense _except_ the biological.

One who had been raised in the heart of New Orleans, who had been taught to evade and destroy even the most formidable of security systems, who had proved his worth time and time again, would not be expected to be standing in his present position, or what it had been a week ago. Yet, there he stood, on a corner in the Bronx, doing card tricks for chump change. He wasn't even wearing sunglasses. Besides, he was clearly getting sloppy, as he'd failed to notice that he was being filmed.

Annoyed, the young woman tapped her foot as she watched the scene play out, glancing to the woman showing her the video tape. Of course, she'd never thought to look there. The hotels of New York, sure, but certainly not the streets. It only went to show how little she knew him.

His voice suddenly emerged, startling her, as obnoxiously arrogant and positively charming as he always managed to be. He'd stepped just slightly in front of a pretty young thing in a business suit who'd been about to pass by, shuffling a deck of cards, ignoring momentarily the small crowd gathered around him. He smiled as she looked up, bothered at finding this young man in her line of vision. "Spare a moment fo' a trick, chère?" he questioned mildly.

The woman watching the tape glanced to the one who had taken it, wondering how on earth she had managed to get the sound, despite the apparent distance. He looked good, she had to admit, even in the plain white shirt and black slacks he was wearing. He looked younger on camera than in person, less devilish in the blinding light of day, and she wondered absently where he'd hidden his trenchcoat. Unless he'd blown it up like he had the last one.

The dark-haired woman he was speaking to paused, hesitating at the crowd around him. He'd always picked his targets well. He'd gotten her interested. From her body language, she seemed immediately hooked, though her tone was skeptical. "You're intending to, what, find the card I draw?"

His smile broadened, not quite reaching his shadowed eyes. With a flick of his index finger, he sent the top card off of the deck, floating up into the air and twirling absently towards the ground. The viewer wondered what card it was, certain it was purposeful, as the woman on screen got a very plain look at which card it was. Directly in front of her eyes, it shimmered with a glow appearing pink on screen and rippled with a slow, burning flame which traveled up the card. It dissolved softly into ash, sprinkling onto the ground. A few enthusiastic tourists applauded.

The snappily dressed young woman looked impressed. The woman watching the small screen was as well, though she wouldn't admit it. He'd improved his control measurably in the past year, if he was able to do that. Normally charging a card resulted in large blasts.

The young man held up a finger, signaling one thing more. Handing the young woman the deck, he held out his arms, plainly demonstrating he had no sleeves, then in a flash reached behind her ear and produced the card in one smooth motion. He turned it around, examining it obviously, "accidentally" allowing the crowd to get a very good look at it, and handed it to her as he took back the deck. "Dat yo' card, chère?"

She blinked at it, then looked up. "Very impressive," she said, her voice subtly shifted. The woman watching flicked her hair unconsciously, bothered by the other woman's obvious interest. "Got any other tricks?"

"'Ave an endless supply," he said, looking at her slyly. "Fo' one dat asks nicely." He lowered his voice, not very subtly. "Some ain't meant fo' de public, eit'er."

"Is dis all?" the woman watching demanded, eyes flaring as she looked sideways with narrowed eyes. "I'd expected more out o' you than seein' him flirtin'-"

"There is one more bit that you may find interesting," the other woman responded smoothly, flicking a button on the remote she held.

The figures fizzled out of view for a moment, hidden behind static as the image leaped forward in time, then reappeared at once, the woman in the middle of speaking, the crowd from around them dispersed. "-9-3-4. You got it?" she asked the man in a tone she clearly hoped was appealing.

Scribbling on a card with a shiny gold pen that plainly was his, he looked up, eyes flashing. "I'd be careful to get da number of a fille like y'self right, non?"

The woman toyed with her attractive, long dark hair that looked like it belonged on a shampoo commercial. She had to know he'd never call. Maybe he didn't have a phone. "On second thought…" she said slowly, taking the pen and card from him and probably batting her eyelashes, "maybe you could meet me at this address in fifteen minutes."

"Dat's enough," the young woman said sharply, but the older woman gestured at the screen, signaling her to be patient.

Face not betraying a smirk, he took the card and glanced at it. Shrugging his shoulders, he tilted his head at her and said, "Or I could walk y' over dere right now…"

"That's alright," she said swiftly, turning with a swish of her hair and looking back at him. "I'll wait for you there."

Then the lazy grin crept back over his face, as he stood by himself, watching her strut away. He turned at last to a small pile at the wall behind him. He slung a long coat, and some other junk the woman watching couldn't recognize, over his shoulder. "So," he mused quietly to himself on the screen, and the woman looked closely for a microphone, wondering where on earth it could be to pick this up so well, "da girl wants da boy, but she don't want to be seen wit' da boy." He paused briefly and shrugged to himself, features not at all displeased. "Okay. S'cool."

Whistling the beginnings of a tune that nearly made the young woman watching cry out, wanting to either slap him, kill him or kiss him, he turned into the front of an alley, the camera following, only suddenly to be halted by a looming figure. For someone to loom over the young man was not an everyday occurrence, as he was considerably taller than most men and hardly shorter than most others. Yet this man dwarfed him.

"LeBeau," the large figure snarled, at first appearing to be a homeless fellow with his long mane of yellow hair, contorted features, and ragged clothes.

Remy LeBeau reeled back slightly, presumably from the stench, but retained an impassive expression, if stepping into a fighting stance. "D' I know y', mon ami?" he wondered mildly.

The bestial man didn't respond, merely glowered.

The woman watching knew that would get to him. Remy didn't like silences. As much as he was a loner, he wasn't a man very adept at handling being alone. It was why he was always drawing companionship, mingling in bars. He shifted, not enjoying a staring match. Withdrawing his cards back from his pocket, he flipped them back and forth between each hand. Looking at the cards, as opposed to the man, he said in a sneaky, unkind tone, gesturing to himself, "Y' 'spect Remy t' take dat fo' a yes? See, dat worries him a bit. Mos' folk he don' 'member but should are pretty femmes." A humorous note entered his tone as he backed up, ever so slightly, just out of the man's reach. "But, see, if Remy mayhaps was a bit tipsy, as 'e's been known to be, an' wit' y' hair an' all… he supposes 'e might 'ave made a mistake. Don't t'ink he's made dat kind o' mistake before," he commented, backing up even further as a faint light began to dawn on the almost creature's face. "'Ticularly wit' a homme o' yo', ahm, stature." A slight growl rose from his throat as the young man continued, purposely provoking him. "T'ough, Remy could perhaps 'ave stolen the ugly one's femme, non? Couldn't say I'd blame her," he added, ducking as the snarling man swiped at him. He failed miserably, Remy darting easily out of his reach. His sudden movement led his trenchcoat and the other tiny bundle to tumble off his shoulder, though.

He charged a card almost at once, the brightness and depth of the reddish glow suggesting he'd been building kinetic energy in his hand for a while before transferring it to the card. He tossed it expertly, but the lion-like man dodged with shocking agility. The card hit a garbage can, which shuddered briefly as the card's pink light enveloped it, then exploded, the force of it setting the monstrous man off balance. The bystanders, walking into the frame of the camera, glanced over quickly at the burning garbage can, but shrugged their shoulders and continued on their way. One or two, paying more attention, were pulling out their cell phones, and the watcher guessed that Remy would not be returning to this particular corner anytime soon.

LeBeau had taken advantage of the explosion to step into a roundhouse kick, sending the man back far enough for him to charge several cards at once, though from their glow they were not charged powerfully enough to kill the man. He threw two with his left, three with his right, most of which the thrown-off man managed to avoid, but one card shot forward to impact against the fur coat of the large man, exploding at once, as another hit the man directly in the face and acted likewise. The thoroughly staggered creature, clothes smoking and aflame, face covered with his hands, slammed back against the wall. LeBeau swept up his trenchcoat and sack in one smooth motion, flicking a dismissive, two-fingered salute in the other fellow's direction.

Sprinting away, he headed directly towards the camera, glancing about at the passerbys, who were mostly ignoring him. His trenchcoat billowed as he pulled it on, flapping in the wind. He came suddenly, remarkably close to the camera, only inches away, but showed no notice of it. Remy turned towards the right, departing swiftly, and the screen was suddenly frozen on his face.

"This is the correct young man, is it not?" The smooth, deep-throated purr came from the cloaked figure holding the remote.

Belladonna Boudreaux sat down, smoothing her sleek blond hair, for no real purpose, as not a strand was out of place. She intently studied his face in profile, insuring herself this was no hoax. Even with the slightly distorted picture, his hair was the same rich brown she recalled, glinting brightly with the distinctly reddish tint he'd always had. Straight, but tousled from its constant battle with the wind, it was blown to the side, looping up to flop gracefully down on the left side, a few strands blowing into his eyes. It was shaggier and less well kept than she recalled. His brows, with their slight, perpetual quirk, were furrowed with something between confusion, anger, and concern. There was stubble dotted across his jaw, covering his angular chin which squared away ever so slightly directly under his mouth. Belladonna knew she didn't seem very professional, gazing at the screen so intensely, but she couldn't tear her blue eyes away from his lips, unable to bring herself to meet his eyes. Those firm, smirking lips, which she'd thought had been made solely for kissing her and murmuring sweet nothings into her ear, were set into a frown.

"Miss Boudreaux?" the other woman prompted, voice dryly amused.

"It's him," Belladonna said, looking away. The sight of him filled her with equal longing and loathing. It was the former she hadn't anticipated.

"As I assured you," the figure said smugly, adjusting her hood. "Now, if you would allow me to speak to your father as I first requested…"

Belladonna looked up sharply. "No," she said firmly. "Mon père is not to be troubled with such… trivial mat'ers." Her accent was somewhat more diluted than that of LeBeau.

The figure made a soft noise that might have been the beginnings of a laugh. "I am well acquainted with Marius… in ways even you are not. I know quite well what his desires on this matter are. And I am equally aware of the offered reward on the young man's whereabouts. It isn't everyday someone kills Marius' only son. Unless your brother's death would be a matter you consider trivial, Belladonna-"

"Y' dare to speak of Julian in dis fashion?" the young woman challenged in a deadly voice, and the knife she drew slowly was not unseen. The pair in her sleeves, however, was relatively unnoticeable.

"I merely remarked that your father would be eager to see this tape… and rapid to act on the information," the deep, almost watery voice responded.

Belladonna grimly re-sheathed her knife, face smoothly impassive. "I'll pay y' double what my fat'er has offered if y' stay silent on dis matter," she said calmly, sitting and reaching for a pen as she withdrew a small leather book from a nearby drawer.

Now, the woman definitely laughed, and the young woman tensed, wanting to drive a knife into her heart. "My dear," she said condescendingly, "your father and I have had an understanding when it comes to our respective businesses for many years. He would not appreciate such a betrayal… and my employer would not appreciate the loss of the goodwill of Boudreaux and his kin. It isn't money I'm after."

Belladonna jabbed the pen furiously into her checkbook, eyes blazing. "Den why go t'rough me like any common bargainer, if y' and mon père have such an… understanding?" she demanded.

The woman paused, drawing back her hood, and Belladonna, even having met her before, could not help but step back slightly. "There is… something else that you could offer me."

"And dat would be?" the young woman said suspiciously, crossing her perfectly shaped, long legs.

The woman paced slightly, her fluid motions rapid. She was not enjoying this. "I have been advised by an.. associate of invaluable… instinct and insight that- it might be in my best interest to have your services on retainer."

Belladonna nodded, clicking her heels together as she fiddled with her skirt. "Y're demandin' a favor, den. To be called in when y' see fit." She narrowed her eyes. "I don't like it."

The woman shrugged, reaching for the remote to eject the tape. "In which case, I'll just take-"

"No!" Belladonna said sharply, gripping the woman's hand tightly. Smoothly, the older woman slid it out of her grip, glaring dangerously. "He's mine," she snarled. "Mine to kill, to deal wit' as _I_ see fit."

The woman looked bemused. "Nevertheless-"

"I'll do as y' ask," Belladonna said furiously. "He knows nothin' of dis exchange, non? Tell my fat'er a word, an' the deal be off. Comprenez-vous?"

The woman nodded smoothly, and smiled rather smugly. "I suppose you'll wish to keep the tape?"

Belladonna glared at her. "Y' get out o' my sight."

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, tilting her head at her. The woman gathered the items she had brought with her. Nodding, she turned to leave, and then paused. Confidently, she turned ever so slightly. "I don't suppose you wish to know why Victor Creed is after your young paramour?"

The daughter of Marius Boudreaux objected to her terminology, but her astute ears caught onto something else. "The beast, 'e was Creed? De Sabretooth?"

The woman flashed her teeth in a dark, cruel, smile. "Kills more men in a month than your father will in a lifetime. But I wouldn't worry… he's not intending to kill the young man."

"What d'y' know?" Belladonna said in a commanding voice, leaping up and placing her hands firmly on the table.

The woman looked at her scoldingly, pulling up her hood. Mockingly, she said as she turned away, "You wouldn't wish to be in debt to me twice over, Miss Boudreaux. You'll hear from me sooner or later. Don't forget. And I will continue to be aware of the whereabouts of Mr. LeBeau… as aware as I am certain you will be, now that you know his location. Refuse to fulfill your debt, and your father will know not only of your betrayal, but exactly where _he_ may be found. Do have a nice day." She swept off, shutting the door behind her with a resounding clang.

Furious, Belladonna threw her knife into the closed wooden door, where it stuck and bobbed up and down before coming to a rest. At least confident in the knowledge her father would know nothing of went on this room, she now had the difficult task of making sure no one else found out where he was. Or… she could just kill him at once herself.

She glanced to the screen, fuming at the man who had killed her brother. She hated him with as much passion as she had once felt for him, and it didn't help he was still so damnably good-looking. Remy was gorgeous, to the extent that Belle, absolutely confident in her own looks, had at times wondered what a man like him was doing with her. She didn't like that feeling.

Maybe it was his eyes that made him beautiful. His height and form, the shape of his nose and face, insured there was nothing remotely feminine about him, and yet he was undoubtedly beautiful. Belladonna, sipping from a glass of water she'd grabbed off the table, flung it to the floor, watching it shatter and wishing every little piece of glass was embedded into that beautiful face, making it bleed the very color of his glinting eyes.

Her brother had no chance against him, she argued to herself, despite the fact that he was clearly the better fighter. There wasn't a single shifty, lousy thief under the thumb of Jean-Luc LeBeau that could best a son of the finest assassin in all of New Orleans- and though few would believe it, the city was quite the hotbed for assassins, partly responsible for the high crime rate. But Remy- with his ruby on onyx eyes which at times seemed to glow- he was a mutant. One of them you read about in the papers, that made little kids pulls the covers over their heads at night. Sure, he hadn't blown anything up, but he never could have beat Julian if it had been a fair fight. Never. His skill was all due to his power, she decided firmly. There was a little voice in the back of her head, though, which reminded her of how long Remy had worked when he was younger to master all the skills of combat, how desperate he had been to prove himself to his adopted father, how hard he had pushed himself. She angrily dismissed this traitorous part.

She glared at the screen, wondrous as she forced herself to meet the frozen image of his eyes. He was still stunningly breathtaking. "Problem bein', he knows it," she hissed to herself, thinking of how his eyes laughed, knowing all the women wanted him, couldn't help it, how they laughed when she'd told him other men envied him. How they'd laughed at her, knowing she couldn't resist him.

She still couldn't, she knew. He should die and she wanted him to suffer, painfully, for him to look at her eyes and see them laugh. She wondered if he still wanted her- he'd told her he loved her. Grabbing her sleek leather coat, she let out a laugh at the screen. She hadn't loved him. Wanted him, yes, wanted him to want her, oh, yes, but loved him? No. She'd let him believe she had, though.

Belladonna Boudreaux looked at his eyes once more, noticing something strange, then turned it off silently and pocketed the small disc the image had been taped on. A night on the town would do her some good, she decided to herself. It wouldn't do to mull over any favor. She'd probably just have to kill someone, anyway. She grinned. Belle decided she'd have to find someone to kill tonight. Someone who reminded her of _him_. She could have a roaring good time, if she played her cards right. Belladonna frowned at the thought of cards.

She headed out the door, fingering the disk as she checked with her other hand to make sure her favored flat daggers were all sheathed, leather loops under the fabric holding them in places suited for quick access. When she didn't want him anymore, she would go and kill him. Make him suffer first. It was her right, and only hers. For tonight, she'd take a step towards ridding her mind of all desire for him.

She dismissed all the thoughts about his eyes, which he wasn't even bothering to hide. Remy had always enjoyed fights. He'd practically glowed after a proper scrap. But after fighting with Sabretooth, though he clearly knew not who he fought….

His eyes hadn't been laughing. They'd been full of pain. Not fear, or the pain of an injury, but heartbreak. She'd seen, over the years, his eyes become harder, darker, after arguments with his father and especially when he had returned from Paris shortly before Julian's death, but always they'd danced with derision. It'd been a year- but his eyes had looked that way, for the first time, when she'd stabbed his shoulder, narrowly missing his heart, when she'd seen what he had done. They hadn't changed in that time. Even as his mouth was smiling, as he was speaking to the girl who he'd probably never gone to meet after his encounter with Sabretooth, she thought his eyes would still be full of that pain, even when false, hard laughter came from his lips.

Good. She took pleasure in the thought it may have been because of her. She'd forgiven him the stabs of jealousy he'd caused her when he stole the hearts of other women- after a while, of course. She would never forgive him for stealing her brother away.

It was delightful to think she had stolen the laughter from Remy LeBeau.


	2. Caldecott County

Disclaimer: Not mine. Marvel's. They can do whatever they like to their characters and none of us can say ballyhoo about it. I'm just tinkering about with them. Which makes this pretty much- yeah, definitely- an AU.

A/N: Hey! People actually read my chapter! That's very, very good! So, thank you to Chica De Los Ojos Café for reviewing. (Brown-eyed girl, right? Or girl of eyes the color of coffee? I'm desperately hoping I did well on my evil Spanish midterm from hell right about now, but I survived them and now I'm off so I'm happy).

ishandahalf- It was very neat to see you reviewed my story because I'd read yours while I was supposed to be studying and left a rather random and obsessive compulsive review, so it was really fun to see you'd read mine. And said such nice things! I was having fun writing it, so it's lovely to see someone besides me actually liked it. Belle should always, always be evil. Nice and innocent is pretty far from my idea of an assassin, but conflict is good. Villains are fun, especially when they're really evil but kind of cool anyways. I have plans for her. Good job nailing her right off and yep, Mystique was the other woman- good guess. As to your questions- see below… And though I try (midterms! I cry!) I'm not quite a bunny on crack. Maybe a turtle on amphetamines. But I try! And it's long, since I just kind of wrote a lot at once and I'm dead if anyone finds out I'm still awake and writing at this hour.

Jean Duex- I'm very flattered you'd create an account just to review my story! Très cool! I really appreciate you saying I made the scene from Ultimate X-Men "my own", since it means you're obviously familiar with the scene, and I was kind of uncomfortable with doing it, since although I love throwing in lines from, say, Princess Bride or Lord of the Rings or some random thing to see if anyone'll catch it, I've never really borrowed that much of anything before. But I really liked that bit and wanted to establish sort of that side of Remy, if you're following my insane train of thought, so I started with that. And I was very, very happy and immensely flattered by you saying I hooked you with my first paragraph and about my last line, since my father has the whole thing about how the first line of a book is the most important and I can never, ever manage to get it just the way I wanted.

So thanks much for reviewing and, if you read this, for reading my rambles. I hope you like the following. As always, I'm iffy about it. When I really like something, I get nervous it's not good enough, and when I'm critical about something, I've been told that's my best ever- and I'm kind of, huh? with the puzzled expression of my cat when she tilts her head. So I don't know. Tell me if you like it, hate it, have no idea what is going on, think I've lost my marbles, think I belong in literature books, or should be roasting in the pits of hell for writing so terribly. Whichever. Honest opinions begged for. I was far happier with my last chapter, especially since this one's kind of cluttered and talky and annoying but I needed it to move on and I have a very fun chapter for next time. Thanks if you're still here. Carry on!

The girl had a haunting face. There was no other word for it. The woman flicked an impatient, red-nailed hand out to snatch the fax and dissected the girl's features in a matter of seconds. She tilted her head to the left, holding the phone against her neck as she reached a hand out for the other one impatiently, tugging it before it was all the way through.

In the photograph which had been sent, the girl's face was half turned from the camera, caught in trying to escape such a picture. Her face was neither quite heart-shaped nor round, somewhere between, and countered with a determined hint to her jaw. The somewhat sullen pout on her face probably accounted for that. Belladonna's assessment was brief. Dark, lonely, cautious eyes, annoyed expression, youthful and with a softness to her, equaled an easy target. Probably some simple-minded little brat absorbed in the pitifulness of her life.

Venom in her voice, she swiveled about, ignoring the hindrance of the phone cord. "Dis is what y' kept me waitin' for six months on?" she demanded of the woman. "Y' want to kill some lil' fille? What, y' couldn' manage to work up de backbone t' jus stick a knife in her throat?"

The voice on the other end let out a slow, deep little chuckle that sent the hairs on Belladonna's arm standing on end. She resolved to imitate it. "You aren't to kill her," the woman said with bemusement. "I simply need her back… and apparently, of my options, you will produce the best results. It certainly isn't the reason I originally acquired your services… I perceived you would be useful in the killing of a woman who is something of a thorn in my side, but perhaps we can discuss a fee for that at a later date. This is an immediate and necessary concern."

Belladonna found herself incapable of believing her ears. "I'm sorry," she said sharply, "I t'ought I jus' heard y' say y're intendin' to use me as a delivery service!" Her tone bordered on becoming dangerously insolent, but the woman's knowledge regarding Remy could not fall into her father's hands simply because she lost her temper and swore at her, so she restrained herself.

"The skills of an assassin may, in fact, be necessary. If she cannot be returned in the condition I prefer… and you must do everything in your power to insure that, or I will know of it," the voice on the other end of the phone said dangerously, "then it is better she die rather than taking the risk she fall into… other hands."

Belladonna glanced at the other sheet. Brief run down of facts and scarce few connections the girl had, as well as giving her current age. She frowned at the use of a pseudonym, a handle, then glanced for the girl's real name. Ah, there. Her frown deepened. Now she already didn't like her. The name carried unhappy connotations for Miss Boudreaux. "She a mutant?" she demanded of the woman, eyes flashing. "What hands we talkin' here? Who're y' so scared'll get their grimy lil' hands on de fille? Essex? Shaw?"

"At the moment, just insure she does not get to Boston. And she took a book. Get that back, whatever happens to her."

Belladonna blinked, rocked. "Boston? We talkin' Frost?"

There was silence on the other end.

"I t'ought y' worked wit' Frost?" Belladonna demanded, a hint of a question rising at the end.

"Upon occasion. When it suits me. At the moment, it does not."

"What's she want in Boston?" Belladonna wondered absently, sitting down to file her nails and scattering the papers lazily onto the table.

"Nothing. We don't know what will trigger her heading there."

She rolled her eyes, sharpening her nails to points rather than rounding them off. "Den what stuck de idea she'll go dere in yo' head?"

"She's heading there. That's all you need know. I greatly prefer her alive… and unspoiled."

"No cutting off her fingers?"

"Preferably not."

"Must y' go an' make it difficult?"

"Would you at least make an effort to be professional?"

Belladonna, disgusted, drew back her lip at the woman's tone. With the slow, routine drag of practice, she said flatly, "How recent's de photograph? It reliable?"

"Yes, it's rec- " the voice abruptly stopped. "Ah, there is something. The front of her hair has turned white." Like she cared about something like that. Made her yet an easier target.

"Any powers y' should be warning me about?" Belladonna asked in a voice tinged with deep annoyance and dissatisfaction.

The voice on the other end went on guard. "I am not confirming or denying anything regarding the girl's status of humanity," the woman responded cagily. "Though I would advise you not to touch any part of her skin. Or allow her to touch you." Not giving time for the other woman to absorb that, she carried on, "I suggest you leave at once. My sources tell me she's in Jackson. Heading for the train station within the next two hours. You'd better be there to head her off. Or your father will hear not only that you know where the rather lovely Mr. LeBeau is… but that in six months, you've failed to act on it in anyway he would approve of."

Belladonna scarcely heeded the threat. "I know where 'e is," she said with a dismissive toss of her hand as she blew off the dust from filing. "An' you'll soon learn dere'll be nothin' to hold over my pretty head much longer. Hmm… maybe I should let dis girl get to New England. I got interests dere anyways, now, don't I?"

"Do not make the mistake of toying with me," the woman said in dangerous tones.

"Yeah, yeah. Jackson in an hour. I got it. Any t'ing else, Raven?"

"Just remember the book," the woman growled. "And do not call me by my name again." The phone went dead, tone sounding obnoxiously in Belladonna's ear.

She cast it down, picking out a dagger to sharpen while she determined a quick flight. Killing someone and taking their ticket might be easiest, she debated, heading off.

In a vague corner of her mind, a slightest twinge of curiosity wondered about this girl, and this book, and why a woman like Mystique would care. But Belladonna was not a curious woman, and the impulse faded briefly.

Not everyone, though, is so indifferent, and the girl's fate would be greatly determined by the events of the past night.

_As she sprinted, she realized she knew everything there was to know about running properly. She recalled a father telling her she was nothing without discipline, and teaching how one could discipline their mind and body. She remembered running every morning before school. She knew about CHIPS. One of the coach's favorite acronyms, which he had spent ages drilling into the minds of his players in showing them how to run properly- Chest High, Hips Straight, Push Stride. She was a bit iffy on the meaning of that, but a part of her mind knew what to do. It had been doing this for years. It was used to it._

_Problem was, she didn't know a damn thing about running twenty minutes ago. She knew how to take down a fellow twice her size with a blade kick to the back of the knee, but she didn't know how to tackle him. She knew how to evade the eyes of classmates and adults, but not how to evade a huge defensive end. Or at least, she hadn't known. In a blooming section of her mind, she knew all these things now. It was how she had managed to duck the boy who'd tried to step in her way, and how she was getting home so fast._

_It alarmed her it had taken her several minutes to realize that she'd been heading home in the wrong direction. That, frankly, she'd been heading for Cody's house._

_It alarmed her far more that for several seconds back at that stupid jock's party, she'd thought she was Cody. That had lasted only as long as it took to realize it was Cody's body toppling to the floor at her feet._

_God, she hoped he wasn't dead._

_He was nice._

_She'd **liked** him. Not the way he liked her… and it alarmed her to realize she knew exactly how much he did like her, and that he'd been thinking about her in all his classes, and couldn't get her out of his head… but he was a nice guy. He'd been a pal the past month or so. She didn't have friends. People didn't like her._

_She was Rogue, she reminded herself. Not Cody. Her name was Rogue. A voice in the back of her head, sounding suspiciously unlike her own, was shouting and railing. Screaming, over and over, as if on a repetitive loop. She could only ignore it. It wasn't real. It couldn't be._

_She urged her legs to keep moving forward, because despite the memory telling her she could run a good three miles at a decent speed before getting out of breath, she was exhausted. She hadn't trained to push herself this distance, at this breakneck pace. What made it worse was that she doubted home was safe. Someone would blame her for Cody's fall, especially if he was injured badly. But she had to tell Irene. Irene was the nearest thing she'd ever have to a mother. She'd spent years raising her. Irene would know what to do. She'd fix everything._

_It was with relief, then, that the sixteen year old girl came thundering up the steps of her front porch. She grabbed at the door knob, turning it roughly, finding it locked. Rogue reached instinctively for her key, only to remember it was in her coat pocket, which was still hanging on a hook back at the house of the jock who'd thrown the party. _

_Annoyed, she rang the doorbell, not bothered by the lack of lights on in the house, as Irene Adler, her guardian for the past ten years, was blind._

_She raised her fist to pound on the door. It creaked slightly, not properly locked. "Ahrene!" she shouted, hitting the door again. "Ahrene! Let meh in!" Rogue glared at the door, as if expecting it to slam open from the mere force of her look. When this, obviously, failed to work, she pushed herself against it, hollering at the top of her lungs. "Ahrene, open up! Ah need help! Ahrene!"_

_The neighbors, a bit down, were probably completely ignoring her. They had no interest in Rogue, foster child of a blind woman down the street who was often clandestinely paid for reading palms and lived in a house far too expensive for one with apparently no real source of income. No one even stuck out a head to see if she was all right. They assumed she was acting out; after all, one would expect a girl from foster care who wore such sullen colors to be a problem child._

_Rogue, glowering at the door, hit it again. A memory suggested she'd broken down a door before, since her brother was continually locking himself in his room. That was impossible, as she had no brother. Still, she knew she only had to hit it in the weak spot, near the hinges._

_Stepping back, she slammed against it with all her might, drilling into it with her hip. Confidently, she waited for it to give, only to step back, out of breath, with not the slightest change in the door's position._

_Seriously annoyed, she raced around the back, to the large live oak tree which came almost dangerously close to the house. It was actually something of a lightning hazard._

_**Yah can't honestly be thinking of climbing that monstrosity!** a voice in her mind said in alarm, near hysterical._

_Rogue darted over to the swing dangling from the lowest branch, wooden and rickety with thinning ropes that clearly indicated it hadn't been used in a while. It was looped a few times around the branch, putting it about even with her chin as opposed to dangling just a bit above the ground. She grabbed onto the ropes, yanking it down a bit. With effort, hobbling about on one foot and stretching with her other leg, Rogue managed to get one boot firmly placed on the swing. Slinging the other up as well, she huffed slightly as she pulled herself to her feet. She closed her eyes for a brief instant as the swing swayed, enjoying the thrilling, rushing sensation of a second of weightlessness as it dropped slightly with her weight. She'd spent hours on this as a kid, daydreaming about reaching the clouds and jumping off when she'd gotten as high as it could go._

_Cautiously, as the swing slowed, Rouge reached up and grasped the low branch. The blood on her left hand made her grip slippery, but it was drying and did not hinder her considerably. Looping both arms around it, she lifted her feet from the swing and slowly "walked" up the tree, the Spanish moss on the tree making the treads on her boots ineffective in gripping. When she was completely dangling from the branch, practically upside down and paying not the slightest attention to the hair falling into her face, Rogue, with one quick motion, slid herself around until she was straddling the branch, right side up. She paused for breath as she pulled her feet up, narrowly catching her balance. Normally a stunt like that only exhilarated her, but a part of her mind was terrified right now. She wobbled, her distracted state alarming her, and she put both her arms out at once, balancing herself with their wavering._

_She eased herself forward, taking steps practically on top of one another until she was just under the first branch. She'd been doing this since she was eight, not even tall enough to get properly onto the swing without a boost. Long before she'd hit the growth spurt which had put her at an exactly average, graceless height. It had been years since even a twinge of a thought had led her to pause before attempting to climb it. Of course, it had only been a year and a half ago that she'd discovered she could climb high enough to reach the awning just below her window. She hadn't ever had anywhere to sneak out to, of course, except to sit on the roof and stare at the moon. She doubted she ever would have anywhere to sneak out to, now._

_It was a simple matter of reaching one hand up and then following with another, stretching one leg up and then gripping with her arms so as to easily stand. Arm over arm, moving hesitantly from one group of branches to another, she sidled up the tree. It was difficult to maneuver her dark, heavy brown hiking boots, which didn't grip the rolling, slipping branches the way her sneakers or bare feet did. _

_**Oh, my Gawd, Ah'm gonna fall,** a thought rang painfully loudly as her boot skidded on the branch, her balance caught as she wrapped her arms snugly around the branch just to the side of it. Her breath was coming fast, and she had a memory of being dangled over the side of a balcony by a teasing cousin determined to cure her of a fear of heights. She didn't have a cousin._

_Rogue bit her lip, nearly drawing blood, as she edged forward, and the memory vanished. She was not scared of heights. Nor snakes. Nor sharks. And so definitely not spiders. She stared defiantly at the ground, keeping her heartbeat steady despite the sudden, nervous sense of vertigo building in her mind. She was Rogue. This didn't scare her. She knew perfectly well she wasn't going to fall_

_On one of the weaker branches now, which gave slightly beneath her weight, she edged forward, till she knew going any farther would be risky, as the branch would no longer be able to support her. It was one good step from here to the slanted awning, but it had to be made with confidence. She knew she wouldn't slide down the small piece of roof. It wasn't as slanted as it looked. Rogue summoned the assurance of having done this before._

_**Ah have absolutely no confidence in mah- yah jumping abilities, so don't expect it,** the familiar tone came again from within her mind._

_She paused, catching her breath, again almost losing her balance on the rounded, rough and bark covered branch, except now she was dangerously high. She bent and placed her hands against the branch rather than risking staying firmly on her feet. The branch creaked ominously._

_"Are… are… please tell meh yah're not mah conscience, 'cause this is a real lousy time ta be kickin' in full volume, an' ah'd really prefer it **immensely** if yah'd just go away an' come back some other day," she gasped out, pressing her hands tightly against the branch as she fought a wave of dizziness. "An' ah'm acutely aware it's a sign of insanity ta be talkin' ta myself, but ah'd prefer if yah didn't respond with a biting retort, if yah don't mind."_

_**Mah Gawd, yah're able to make small talk with yourself while up in a tree but you can't even manage to figure out who I am!** The almost voice was familiar, like the nagging voice in the back of her head when she did something she shouldn't have sounded like Irene. It was a young voice, male, medium tone as it was long past the youthful, higher sound of boyhood and on its way to the gravelly tones of his father. Though how she knew what the voice of his father was like was beyond her. There was something slightly off about it, not being the exact way she'd heard him speak, or the way he'd shouted things to his friends. It was Cody's voice, though._

_It took her a moment to realize it was the voice she had heard shouting out plays when she'd seen the flashes of a scrimmage and backyard games with a brother right after he'd grabbed her hand. The slight differentiation in the voice she was familiar with and the voice speaking in her head, she realized, was the difference between the way Cody heard his own voice and the way the rest of the world heard it. _

_"Cody?" she whispered, clutching the branch as if it were a life preserver._

_**Ah think so. Get meh outta yah head, Rogue!** he shouted, his "voice" tinged with fright._

_"Look, ah don't even know why yah're in there… well, ah'm getting' an idea, but, believe meh, ah'm already tryin'," she protested, her own heart pounding, horrified by the thought that more than his memories were invading her head. "But ah gotta get in the house to do it, hear? Yah're only hurtin' yahself. Back off a bit, will yah? Ah know what ah'm doin'."_

_**Ah… ah don't know how to back off.** Rogue marveled that his voice seemed to have altered slightly, adjusting to the way she was accustomed to hearing it. **It's dark and cold and Ah'm seein' vague images out o' some girl's… yah eyes, and at first ah could feel everything like ah was in mah own skin, but it's all fadin' now and ah don't want to go, Rogue! Is this death? What are yah? How'd you do this to me! Why'd yah do this! Get me back, please, just-**_

_"Ah'm realleh sorry about this!" she yelled, sitting herself down on the branch cautiously and rubbing her head. "But could yah just shuddup fah a bit? Yah're makin' mah head spin and ah'm realleh thinkin' ah might fall off the tree 'cause ah'm gettin' so dizzy. Ah don't know, all right? Ah just don't know. Go away, all right? Jus'…jus' go away."_

_**Ah cannot express how sincerely ah would like to do yah bidding,** his voice answered, not quite as poundingly loud. **Ah jus' want to go home… Can yah do that? Send me home?** He meant as much to his own body as he did to his house._

_"Ah'm tryin'," she responded testily, slowly raising herself to her feet. Rogue's mind raced, but she didn't want Cody to read her thoughts. He'd touched her, and something had happened. There could be no question whatsoever it was her fault. She'd done this. A feeling of guilt swam over her, and she brushed it aside. Cody's presence, or whatever it was, seemed to recede slightly as she recovered her former sense of balance, graceless though it might be. Easily, knowing the jump was a slight one, she flexed her knees slightly and jumped the incredibly short distance, landing easily on the roof._

_Cody's voice returned to her ears, yelling about how they were going to slide right off, screaming prayers to God, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, anyone who would listen._

_Rogue, toning him out as best she could, which was really not at all, stepped up the barest incline, putting her hands down against the rough, dark red shingles as she carefully edged up to her window. It was no more difficult to lift it from the outside than it was from within, but as it slid up with a creak, she groaned. She'd forgotten the screen. She could take it off from the inside, but doubted she could get it off here._

_Reluctantly, she pushed hard against it, a voice in the back of her mind worrying over the equal and opposite force from the effort would send her off the roof. She firmly ignored it and shoved, her gloved hand and her ungloved one pushing through the screen with little difficulty. The ripped, somewhat jagged edges of the screen scraped against her bleeding hand._

_Putting one leg through, then the next, Rogue cautiously eased herself into her room, some of the longer strands of her auburn hair, which tumbled to the base of her neck in the obviously divided sections she'd straightened it in, falling across her face into her dark green eyes as she looked into the darkened room, seeming somehow unfamiliar. She shook her head, closing the window behind her and crossing her arms over her chest. She flipped a light on._

_Cody's voice, fainter now, echoed in her head with surprise. **Pink? Your walls are pink?**_

_"Don't start with meh," she warned him, the same tone Irene used when scolding her. Nervously, her feet moving almost under their own power, she moved into the hall, switching the light on with a sensation of unease. "Ahrene?" she called._

_**She isn't home! **the thought that sounded like Cody rang in her mind with desperation._

_"She's always heah," Rogue muttered, rubbing her head and ignoring the alien thoughts crying out to let them go. Picking up her pace, she headed into Irene's room, opening the usually closed door loudly as it accidentally banged against the wall. "Ahrene? Yah in here?" She waited a second, switching the light on, her own memories of where the switch was overriding that of where the light switch was in Cody's parents' bedroom. "Christ," she muttered to herself, looking at the empty room. Irene didn't seem to be in the house, which was incredibly strange. It wasn't extremely late, but usually she was in bed at this hour, to "watch" TV or read books, naturally in Braille. Prometheus, her golden Labrador guide dog, hadn't trotted in with his hound dog eyes as usual, begging for treats. And the turned over covers of the bed, complete with fluffy pillows with their outer cases removed, implied Irene had already turned in for the night._

_**Where is she?**_

_Rogue honestly couldn't tell if the thought was hers, or Cody's. She reckoned it might be both. Turning, she looked for any note that would tell her where Irene had gone, but she'd probably have put it downstairs, and she definitely would have left a light on. _

_Rogue froze as her eyes caught sight of a book. Opened, it was caught between the blankets and the sheets, half-covered. Slowly, as if in a trance, with Cody exclaiming at her in her mind, she headed deliberately toward it, hand extended. Brushing away the blanket, she recognized the book as one of the dozens Irene continually scribbled in and doodled in, presumably in an attempt to retain the writing and drawing skills she'd had before mysteriously being struck blind at age thirteen. She called them her dream journals, which was a common thing. She just had more than most people. This cover, though was of red leather as opposed to the usual black, though it was of the same large size. _

_Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rogue frowned as she lifted it into her lap. The only time Irene had ever, ever gotten truly angry with her was a few short months after she'd moved in, when Rogue had attempted, out of curiosity, to open one of the books. After being scolded, she'd respected Irene's privacy, assuming she was embarrassed by her attempts. The picture before her, though, was perfectly symmetric, with no lines running over another, and had been colored against the thick pages with paint Rogue had seen Irene used. _

_She realized the picture, which seemed to be of two figures was upside down, and went to turn it, running a hand through the front of her hair as she did so. It was not a habit of hers, but of Cody's, but she was startled to feel a sudden difference in the texture of the front of her hair. Puzzled, she looked away from the book towards the strands of hair falling into her face, feeling the difference between her straightened, glossy but slightly coarse locks and the soft, fuzzily silky strands in the front. Clutching the book to her chest and with a sudden ominous feeling, she jumped off the bed and turned to look into Irene's mirror, a useless commodity which had come attached to the dressing table, made of a smooth mahogany wood her guardian delighted in._

_She nearly fell over. Rogue clutched Irene's dressing table, completely shocked Her former bangs, which she'd had for far too long and had been growing out for well over a year, as well as what had been some new, slightly more reddish hair which had grown in over the summer, which she had quite liked, had turned piercingly white. It wasn't a creamy color, or the white blond some girls had, or the silvery white of old age, but the bright white such as one might see on the fur of a cat. The white reached back several inches, but at its farthest hung less than half the length of her hair. Alarmed, Rogue pulled a strand in front of her eyes of deep green mingled with shades of brown that lightened them. She stared in shock at the purely white strands, reaching up to pull more in front of her face, letting the open book drop._

_**How can yah be worrying about your hair!** Cody shouted loudly, angrily, from a corner in her mind. **Forget about it! It's not important!** _

_Rogue wasn't paying attention. Reeling with shock, she took a step or two back from the mirror, tearing her gaze away from the pale figure it reflected. Her eyes dropped to the fallen book, from which a small, perfumed card had dropped. _

_Bending, she picked up the long, thin card, perhaps a bookmark, with a dried flower, a magnolia, pressed against it. There was an inscription in an unfamiliar script written above it. She read it, confused. _

_**Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.** She didn't know what it meant, but the center of one of the words leaped out at her. Mutant._

_"No," she breathed, not truly denying it but in a mild state of shock. She stared at her scraped, ungloved hand. Mutant. Freak. Witchbreed. Monster. _

_Her mind jumped from one step to the next, ignoring Cody's sudden cries, perhaps of horror or fear. Rogue stared at the card. If she was a mutant, if Irene had this card, she had to be one too. And if she was one, that meant Ms. Darkholme, the woman who had brought her to Irene after her first few foster homes ended in disaster caused directly by Rogue, who'd been more than once referred to as an impudent brat in her early childhood, was as well. She'd always been strange, of course, since one time she'd call herself a social worker, another time she'd be a lawyer, once even a doctor. She'd looked subtly different, too, though always dark-haired with horn-rimmed glasses, so Rogue had put the alterations down to touch-ups, nips and tucks here and there, though Ms. Darkholme, who always seemed imposingly confident on her regular monthly visits to check on Rogue's well-being, often teaching her something or another she felt would be useful to a "growing young woman" or taking her on "education trips", hardly seemed the sort of woman to want plastic surgery or feel she needed it._

_"Mah Gawd," she whispered, clutching the card._

_ "Not exactly, dear," a voice said in her ear. Jerking, Rogue looked up in shock._

_Behind her in the mirror, a woman wearing dark sunglasses, with graying brown hair, stood patiently._

_"Ahrene," she said, startled, as she whirled about. She cleared her throat, eyes darting at the book. "Where were yah? Ah was callin' fah yah, an'-" _

_Irene looked at her patiently, though it was hard to tell her true expression with the glasses. "I was on the phone."_

_"Didn't yah hear meh calling?" Rogue asked, suddenly, strangely uncomfortable with the woman who had raised her._

_"Were you? I was in the basement," she said calmly._

_They did have a phone down there, along with their main television. It'd been made as a playroom for Rogue as a child, as many of Irene's rooms were used as studies, filled with Braille books on one subject or another. For a long call, the phone there was the clearest. Rogue paused, considering this information, then noticed Irene's bathroom door was open a crack where it hadn't been before, though the light wasn't on. Liar, she thought fiercely, sending Cody into a positive fit of alarm, shouting at her desperately. "But yah hate the stairs," was all she said, though._

_"I was speaking with Ms. Darkholme. I thought I'd make myself comfortable, since we were having quite a long conversation. Regarding… your future."_

_The pause was very slight, but Rogue picked up on it. She berated herself silently. She trusted this woman. She loved her as if she were her own mother. It had to be Cody's influence, his panic, causing her to doubt. Still… all those years, she'd been lying to her. Rogue glanced at her glove. She'd never believed she'd had a skin condition, but she'd trusted Irene when the woman suggested it. It had been difficult, getting used to them, writing with gloves on and listening to the other kids gossip about it. And now it seemed that was all a lie, that Irene had failed to warn her the real reason she needed to cover her skin up was because… well, because of whatever she had done to Cody. Stealing his soul with her touch, maybe. Capturing his mind within her own. She hoped he wasn't dead._

_**That's all! You hope I'm not dead? You hope?**_

_She turned her head, bothered by the sudden, returned force of his voice. His memories, though, were fading from her grasp, no longer interlocking with her own._

_"Rogue? What is it?" Irene asked with concern, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder. Which was of course covered by her green shirt._

_Rogue, feeling her eyes sting, rubbed her hands roughly over them. "Something horrible's happened, Ahrene. Ah… ah might have killed someone," she whispered, thinking of Cody's blue, blue eyes and his earnest smile. His pleas to let him go increase. She shrank back against the dresser, sliding towards the wall._

_"No, no, you haven't killed him, Rogue," Irene told her gently, stepping forward and folding her into a motherly embrace, though, as always, a slightly awkward, stiffened one. "Everything'll be all right. I promise. It's good you've come home to me. I'll fix everything. Don't you worry. It isn't horrible, I promise you."_

_"Ahrene… when he touched meh, he just fell over," Rogue said slowly, mind racing. Her eyes were on the book on the floor. In a panicked voice, picturing what she would say if she hadn't just read that card, and, privately, believing Irene must have a good reason for keeping secrets and be about to reveal them all, she said, "Is it mah skin condition? Ah… didn't think ah had one, but is that what happened?"_

_Irene paused, her lips pursing ever so slightly. Had Rogue not known her so long, she never would have picked up on it. "I'm afraid something of the kind may have happened. Who did you touch, Rogue? Did it happen at that party?"_

_"Mah hand got cut when ah fell, and this boy ah know was trying to help, but when he touched mah skin… Something weird took place," she said hestitantly in a pained tone._

_**Ask her! Get her to fix it! What's the matter with yah? Ask her how to get meh outta your head!**_

_Impassively, Irene nodded, not showing any of her normal concern when Rogue informed her she'd been hurt. "Did anyone see it?"_

_Rogue frowned, pulling back. She edged the book toward her with her foot, not wanting Irene to bump against it and find that she'd been into it. She moved it as silently as possible, talking at once because she didn't want Irene's acute hearing to pick up on the sound of the leather cover brushing slowly against the rug. "Well, one of his friends came after meh. Tried to stop meh from leavin' 'cause ah guess he thought ah'd done something to Cody. Ah… ah guess ah did," she said with a heave of breath. The book was now directly under her foot, away from Irene. _

_Irene extended a hand to Rogue, running it through her hair lightly, cautiously, and purposefully. "My poor girl," she said quietly. Rogue, feeling traitorous, noticed her foster mother didn't ask what had happened to the boy. She wondered, also, if Irene could tell the faint difference in the texture of her hair, but the woman betrayed no surprise._

_"What do ah do now?" she asked Irene, biting her lip._

_"Ms. Darkholme's on her way, Rogue. She'll be here Monday. She knows how to handle conditions like yours."_

_Rogue, suddenly alarmed, looked up sharply. "How'd she know to be back now?" _

_Irene looked somehow surprised. "She doesn't. She's coming for her ordinary visit, but she'll know exactly what to do," she said smoothly._

_"But.. there'll be police here, asking about what happened to Cody," Rogue protested, her hurt hand, scraped further by bark and leaves, beginning to sharply sting._

_"They aren't a concern," Irene said softly, causing a sudden outburst from the part of Rogue's mind which thought like Cody. "Everything will be taken care of. It was an accident, Rogue. We can't even be sure this has anything to do with your condition… perhaps the boy had too much to drink…"_

_"He doesn't drink, he drives," Rogue said angrily, pulling away. "And what exactly is my condition, anyway? What is it that could make someone fall down?"_

_Irene's head tilted, as if she were weighing the effects of anything she said. Distractedly, she said, "Your skin contains a slightly increased percentage of acid, which upon contact with the pores of someone else's skin, could cause temporary-" She cut off, gasping at the blank air._

_Rogue's mind was screaming the word liar, over and over again, both her own self and the voice that sounded like Cody. He took chemistry, she somehow knew, and she was pretty sure all of that was just bullshit to reassure her._

_"No," Irene suddenly gasped, glasses tumbling off as she swayed, revealing her milky white eyes. "No. Rogue…"_

_The girl, instinctively, steadied her, concern in her eyes, particularly since Irene sounded as she always did, motherly and full of anxiety for her wellbeing._

_Irene grabbed her arm, too tightly. "Did you see it?" she hissed in a dangerous tone of voice. "The book… you haven't seen it, have you? Have you?"_

_"What book?" Rogue said, struggling to sound confused instead of nervous. She knew she failed the moment she heard the words come out of her mouth. She was good at pretending, but a rotten liar when it came down to it._

_**Get out of here!** Cody's voice screamed, his admonition that something was wrong filling her with apprehension, despite her trust in Irene, which seemed to be rapidly getting harder and harder to hold onto._

_Irene's hand grabbed her arm surprisingly tight. "Did you look at it yet? What did you see?" she demanded, horror in her tone. "Rogue! Answer me! Tell me the truth- you have no idea what you may have done!"_

_"I didn't look at it!" she insisted, backing away with widened eyes but not truly trying to shake the woman's grip. "Gawd, yah're hurting meh, Ahrene!"_

_"You're going to take it," the woman murmured with increasing horror. "You can't, you'll ruin everything- but events have already been set into motion! What did you do!"  
"You're the one who left it on the bed!" Rogue cried furiously, throwing the woman's grip off and snatching the book off the floor. "Here's the damned thing, I never saw a thing."_

_Irene stilled for a brief moment, pulling herself back to her full height and stroking the cover lightly. She looked up, purely white eyes eerily seeming to exactly meet Rogue's own. "The bookmark…" she said softly. "It was meant to stay on that page."_

_"What page?" the girl challenged, hands on hips. "What are you going on about? Why's it matter, anyhow?"_

_Irene closed her eyes, looking pained. "I am truly sorry. The fault was perhaps mine for leaving it there. Events happened slightly earlier than anticipated, but occurred all the same. The future may be in motion, but it cannot be changed. We should not have sought to prevent your fate. I didn't think you would be home for a bit longer."_

_Rogue had a sinking feeling. "Because yah figured ah'd stay at the party till it was done?"_

_"No. I thought your fall would take place several minutes later than it did. And I did not know your hand would be cut. Which alarms me, as it suggests the future prepared for under those conditions no longer applies."_

_Rogue stared. _

_The thoughts that sounded like Cody were moaning. **Aw, man, this has gone way too sci-fi!. Let this just be a dream, and ah'll move onto a western next. Please, Christ, help a fellah out here. Please!**_

_"Ah'm sorry, what?" she demanded at last, staring at Irene._

_"Come here," said Irene, extending her arm to her- the one not holding the book. "I'll explain."_

_Rogue edged toward her, glancing skeptically. "What's with the touchy-feely stuff?" she demanded. "You're actin' really weird, Ahrene."_

_Irene rubbed her forehead. "My apologies if I'm alarming you," she said wearily. "It's just one of my migraines."_

_Rogue, years of concern kicking in, looked up. "You want meh ta make some of that tea?" she wondered. "Ahrene, you've realleh got to have those checked ou-….yah jus' changed the subject."_

_"Not intentionally, I assure you," Irene said calmly, still rubbing her forehead and clutching the book tightly. She looked fragile and very, suddenly old. "Why don't we head down and we'll discuss this all over a cup of tea?"_

_The question at the end of her voice, the slightly unsure quality that had always accompanied Irene's attempts to be motherly, halted the vehement protest already rising to Rogue's lips. "Sure," she said flatly, confusion enveloping. "Yah'll explain?"_

_"You can go first," Irene said, smiling slightly. "Did you say you'd hurt your hand?"_

_Cody's voice was fading slightly from the back of her head as her emotions slid back towards normal. "It's fine," she lied, resolving to rinse it and clean it out later. _

_They walked down the stairs in uncomfortable silence. Rarely did the two know how to properly relate to one another. It was an extra bit of speed, then, that Rogue began to heat up water, cleansing her rather deep cut as she did so. She splashed water on her face, clearing up the traces of the makeup she'd dared to wear, including the somewhat heavy, now smeared mascara. She'd been experimenting with it a lot lately, Irene not really having noticed since it wasn't like she was wearing any perfume. Girls at school wore a lot of hard makeup, and she hated to stand out. But she hated even more to be like them, so she'd probably gone a bit overboard tonight._

_**Yah still looked nice**, a voice said somewhat mournfully in the back of her mind._

_There went any last chance to be hallucinating, since there was no way she would have described her appearance as 'nice'. She'd just worn a lousy pair of dark slacks and a dark green shirt to go to a party she'd had no place at where everyone was far too underdressed for the middle of winter, even in Mississippi._

_"Here," said Irene, handing her tea leaves to stir in. Irene insisted on the real stuff, no tea bags for her. _

_Pouring the scalding water into porcelain cups, she sat at their small table, Irene settling across from her, looking apprehensive, even with her glasses back on. Irene put her own leaves in the cup, beginning to stir it._

_"What happened?"_

_Hesitantly, Rogue, staring at her unhappy looking cup of tea, muttered, "Y'know that fight I got into about a week or so back?"_

_Irene rubbed her forehead. "The one with the football player or the girl interviewing for the school newspaper?"_

_"The one with that boy was a long time back," Rogue said defensively. "And I never hit first. I may have made some choice comments about her editorial-"_

_"And?"_

_"This boy… broke it up."_

**'Much as mah teammates are gonna hate meh for this, y'ladies have gotta to stop fighting-'**

**'Ah'm not a lady- and get yah filthy hands offa meh-'**

"_The one who asked you to the party?" Irene prompted._

_"It wasn't a date," Rogue said hurriedly, horrified at the thought._

_**Oh**, said a voice in the corner of her mind sadly._

_"It wasn't!" she said, further horrified. "Ah- just- ah… he came an' talked with meh at lunch. Ah haven't sat with anyone in lunch for a long time… y'know that," she said with a nod the woman couldn't see to Irene. "He was real nice… and everyone else was goin' to his friend the quarterback's house, so… ah kinda got talked into it."_

**'Stop grinning like a fool. Ah'm not goin'.'**

**'Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top? I'll buy yah an ice cream if yah say yah'll go. And nobody'd ever expect yah to go, y'know. Don't yah like givin' people a start now and then? Makin' 'em look at yah different?'**

**She sighed. '…. What kind of ice cream?' she demanded grudgingly.**

_"And then you got all excited," she told Irene miserably. "So I went. An' it was lousy and loud to boot- which is realleh exactly what he'd said it would be, so ah spent the night mostly edging outside while he kept trying to get meh drinks. Pop, that is. Not even punch. He's realleh… good."_

_**Gee, thanks.**_

_"So, some drunk idiot fell on top of meh, knocked meh back, and there were some broken beer bottles outside, an' one o' them cut my hand a bit. Nothin' terrible, Ahrene, don't look so distressed," Rogue said with a tone somewhere between reassurance and annoyance. All her senses were screaming something was wrong, and she didn't know what, so her mouth just kept moving, and she didn't seem to be able to make it stop. That, she knew, was a characteristic of Cody. Not her. "And… he helped meh up, though ah didn't want it, and started tryin' ta get meh to go inside, so we could get bandages."_

**'Don't be such a wuss. It's a little bit of blood, that's all.'**

**'There's a gash on your hand. Ruined yah glove, too. Ah'm not good at seein' blood on such a pretty hand.'**

**'Aww…. That's so sweeeet. Don't be an ass, Cody.'**

**'Ah mean it. Ah never seen a girl as white as you.'**

**'Yeah? Well, ah don't get out as much as ah'd like. And frankly, ah've never seen a boy turn quite that shade of green over nothin' before. So we're just about even.'**

_"He, er, just grabbed mah hand."_

**'Yah know, ah think yah're just about the prettiest girl ah've ever met.'**

**She burst out in immediate laughter.**

**'Don't laugh,' he said, scandalized, ducking his head. 'Ah mean it. An'…yah interesting. Y'think… would yah want to dance with me?'**

**'Ah'm bleeding, Cody,' she said somewhat flatly, stepping back a bit with unsure eyes. 'Ah… another time."**

**His blue eyes, intent, looked up in sudden remembered concern for her hand. 'Here, lemme see that-'**

**'Don't!' she said harshly, pulling away. But his hand had brushed against hers, her sleeve snagging on his watch in a sudden instant, and he stared at her, not bothering to try to disentangle himself. For a brief second, Rogue couldn't help but be both rather scared and exhilarated by a hand against hers, particularly a boy's, even if she didn't really have any fuzzy feelings (she believed the expression was evil and that not a single one of her feelings could be described as fuzzy) towards this particular one. It was something new for her.**

**He seemed to be having trouble getting air into his throat, and his eyes were rolling wildly, but try as she might, her hand would not move away from his, despite all her will to do so. Suddenly lights of black and white were flashing in her mind, and Cody was tumbling at her feet.**

_"An' then…." Rogue shook herself, pushing aside Cody's verbose nature. She chose not to say anything about the thoughts in her mind. "Then he just passed out and one of his friends started chasin' meh…. And I ran home."_

_Irene took a deep breath, then sipped her tea._

_"Yah better not go sayin' it was from the blood," Rogue said warningly. "Ah want answers. Real ones."_

_Irene sighed. "You've barely touched your tea," she said innocently. Irene was a good enough observer with her other senses to pick up on such things, blind or not._

_**OH MY GAWD! This is the part where there's something in your drink! Ah've read enough Hardy Boys books to know! Don't touch it! Don't, don't, don't-**_

_Rogue felt relatively sure whatever piece of Cody was in her mind was very quickly beginning to lose it. Though his sanity in the first place was questionable, since he's apparently liked her._

_"You've been through quite a trauma," Irene added, rubbing her thin hands together. "It might be best to calm yourself slightly before you hear what I have to say."_

_Rogue, unsteadily, reached for the green cup, the warm liquid filling her ungloved hand and even reaching through the covered one with a tempting, inviting heat which filled every inch of the smooth mug. It was mere luck which caused her to look up, for no particular reason, and notice the twitch in Irene's forehead._

_It was with reluctance that her hands shot immediately away from the cup._

_**Good girl!**_

_"What's in the tea, Ahrene?" she demanded hoarsely, jerking back. The chair skidded with a horrible screech against the cold linoleum floor as she stood._

_Irene's face was suddenly, studiously blank. "I'm not sure you're quite all right, Rogue," she said, blinking. "I- ohhh!" Clutching her head, she tumbled to the floor._

_Instinctively, Rogue jumped forward, at once at Irene's side, shaking her. "Ahrene?" she questioned, somewhat panicked. "Ahrene!"_

_Weakly, the woman's hand reached up, waveringly. She beckoned towards her. Rogue, auburn brows furrowed, leaned forward._

_It was the merest fringe of distance that the glinting, bright kitchen knife Irene swung towards her in a sharp arc missed her neck. Had she been able to see, it would have sliced right into her neck._

_Eyes wide, Rogue dove for the floor, ducking under the table._

_"I'm truly sorry, Rogue," Irene said sorrowfully. "I'm not trying to hurt you. But you must still be here when Ms.-"_

_Rogue's leg shot out and swept Irene's feet out from under her. The blind woman's head hit the floor with a resounding crack, while Rogue scrambled out from under the table on the other side, in a state of shock._

_It was amazing how quickly the older woman got between the back door and Rogue. As if she'd known where she was going. "You don't know what you're doing," she told Rogue, then hurled the knife at the girl's leg._

_Her aim was precise, not aiming for where Rogue was, but where she'd be in a second. The knife clattered down to the floor, her black hiking boot yanked back by the merest fringe to avoid it. She scurried in the opposite direction._

_Irene, white eyes gazing at her, tossed the tablecloth right on top of her, whipping it off the table with deceptive ease and gracefully hurling it in the air to come down right upon the fleeing girl._

_Rogue, rather than being alarmed, simply dropped down and ducked her head out from under the white, enveloping cloth. As she pulled it off, something hit her head, hard. It turned out to be Irene's rather hefty leather volume, which she clutched at once. Ignoring the slight, dull ache at the back of her head, she whirled. "Guess what ah'm doin' right now," she told Irene in a dangerous voice, ripping pages out of the book with a loud tearing noise._

_"Don't!" Irene shouted, lunging forward. Rogue, surprised, let the papers fall to the floor, as Irene wrestled desperately for the book. "You can't possibly understand," the woman nearly wept. "We had changed your fate. We had it all fixed. And you're spoiling it all. Just give me the book, Rogue, please. Just sit down. It's for your own good." Her grip was surprisingly strong and wrenching, but Rogue held back, pulling against the leather volume and trying not to let her digged-in heels slide down the linoleum towards Irene._

_"Are you mad!" Rogue roared incredulously, as loud as her lungs could manage. "Y'all are tryin' ta murder me and yah're expectin' me to, what, sit back and die!"_

_"You're only hurting- " _

_Rogue's ungloved hand had been gripped powerfully by Irene. Both let go at once, but the older woman staggered back against the wall, slumping into unconsciousness, the wound on the back of her head contributing to her weariness._

_Rogue reeled, an explosion of many stars in her head._

**A young girl sat at a table, playing with tarot cards. She likes looking at the pictures, having a vague feeling she should look at them while she can.**

**An old wood Ouija board, with girls gathered around it, staring at her though she can't see them, then stumbling back as the pointer began to wildly spin. Their futures were all laid before the thirteen-year old blind girl. She knew that one would die at twenty, one would never marry, one would have a grandson who would be a senator. She knew everything but her own doom, but she knew she would learn it in a vision on February 16, forty years from now, and would have to fulfill it.**

**A young man, kneeling before her, nervous. She knows he'll be dead this time next year. She knows he'll never make it to the wedding. She says yes anyways, because she is meant to.**

**She waits for Raven to come with the child that must come, though she doesn't know the girl's past, only her many futures.**

**'o-only meant to pet the puppy-'**

**'-live, you don't-'**

**'-orry, but he passed away at on-**

**'ister's child, what can y-'**

**'everything's going to hell-'**

**'-ive, Scott, li-'**

**'-we're meant to rule the-'**

**'-boys are dumb, let's-'**

**'-elcome, to-'**

**'-y'like dolls-'**

_Image after image hit Rogue in a swarm, and she couldn't tell whether or not they were Irene's memories or images of… something else. Another time, something yet to be._

_One word was seared into her mind: Destiny._

_And tied with it was another, associated with the woman who had insured she learned how to box, who brought impersonal if useful gifts, who was witty and droll and who Rogue had always had a secret, childish little hope that she was her mother, her real, birth mother, and had some very good reason for not being able to claim her: Mystique. Who had plans for her. And her powers._

_"Mah Gawd, ah've killed Ahrene," she gasped, staring at the woman's body. Another memory hit her at once. Full of indignation, she responded to herself, "Mah Gawd, she tried to kill meh!"_

_**No, I didn't**. The force behind the voice nearly knocked her over. **And I- the outer me- is absolutely fine.**_

_"What the hell?" Rogue shouted, clutching her head, stumbling over to the table. Rubbing her eyes, she opened them, staring at Irene's drained cup of tea._

_**It's been so long since I've been able to read tea leaves**, a voice in her head murmured, softer than Irene's speaking voice ever was. One forgets how beautiful the world is. **Stay where you are, Mar-**_

_Don't you dare start that with me! Rogue thought furiously, and was somewhat shocked when the voice didn't answer._

_**Ah'm keepin' her quiet- like... It's like a place here, now, in a way. Get out of there**, Cody's voice came softly._

_"Ah don't understand," Rogue muttered, eyes narrowed. "Ahrene!" she said venomously to the voice in her head, rummaging for the coffee tin where Irene kept her money in the cabinets and casting a glance over at the unconscious Destiny- Irene, she corrected herself, alarmed. "What's goin' on? Ah'm some kind of mutant, obviously, but what am ah doin? Why's mah touch killin' people? Am ah poison?"_

_The voice reluctantly came through, and it sounded slightly roughed up. **No, Ma- Rogue. Not poison. Through touch, you absorb the thoughts and memories- in effect, the psyche, of specific individuals. Even the powers, such as mine. Stay where you are, and we can teach you control.** Rogue ignored the new knowledge that told her that was an utter lie, pushing it as far away as she could, and put all attention into her task._

_Triumph! Rogue pulled the coffee tin lid open and yanked out several pristine hundred dollar bills, as well as a wad of twenties and tens. They all smelled vaguely of coffee grind. _

_**Stay**, Irene's voice began to repeat, on a loop._

_**She's fading, Rogue. Getting paler. You didn't hold on long enough. Touch her again**, Cody urged. **So she can tell us what happened to me- what's gonna happen to me-**_

_**Ah know what's going to happen to you**, Rogue thought, eyes welling with burning droplets of water she didn't want. **Ah know a lot of things that aren't gonna go away too quick. **_

_**What-**_

_Bluntly, her thoughts exploded, unable to keep them back in her own head as she could words. **You're heading into a coma. You're gonna die in ten years. Maybe in my arms, Irene didn't know.** She clutched the book tightly. **Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't know. Ah-Ah don't know if I could have stopped it if ah did. And ah'll see if I can find anyone who can fix it. I swear. **_

_There was a faint, muffled sound and then nothing._

_She glanced back at Irene, a mixture of emotions on her face, then glanced at the red marks under her long sleeves from the woman's tight grip on her wrist, the knife on the floor, and the red book in her arms, leather the cover of blood. She didn't know how long until the woman woke up. She looked over to her backpack, still packed with homework she never planned to do, innocently ready for Monday like always. Rogue's emotions were mixed. She'd never planned to run away, since Irene had always needed her. And the thing was, Irene, from what she'd briefly seen of her, seemed to be exactly the person she thought she was. Except for the fatalism. And the apparent dash of murderous intent and desperation and derangement. _

_She didn't know where to go. Irene's memories, unlike Cody's, were fleeting, and she didn't even know where she was heading. Away. Anywhere else._

_She fled out the front door, not bothering to take the time to grab a bag, nor a jacket, as her only real coat was still sitting in the house of Cody's friend. _

_She could hitchhike. To a train station, since Mys- Ms. Darkholme would probably anticipate an airport first. She had no idea what was a good place to hide. She had no relatives. No friends. And definitely no driver's license, having failed the test to get her permit._

_**I know how to drive**, Cody said wistfully, voice quiet and deadened. **You could just take a car.**_

_She ran down the sidewalk, auburn hair swinging as her feet pounded in a pattern, a slow, steady rhythm against the pavement. "No," she said quietly, breathing the word out even as she breathed. She wasn't running the way Cody did, with all his football skills and practice. Her rhythm was a lighter, less practiced one, and she stretched her legs out farther in easy strides that moved her ahead. She dismissed all the thoughts about proper running form Cody'd been taught, choosing instead to remember Ms. Darkholme's remark about running being a good way to take out aggression in a productive manner. _

_"Ah'm… sorry, Cody. Ah don't want to be you," Rogue managed quietly, realizing running was far more difficult when you weren't breathing the precise way an athlete should. She continued in her own way anyways._

_She wondered if he could understand that. For suddenly, his voice didn't answer, and neither was there a silence where he should have been. She could almost feel the parts of her mind that weren't right, that were bits of Cody and Irene, not of her, but they weren't after her at the moment. They were… there, but distant. Closed off, somehow._

_She ran into the chill of her night, holding the ridiculous book and learning firsthand running was less easy when clutching an extra weight, which unbalanced you. A lesson Cody knew, but that Rogue didn't. Nor was she fully aware that an hour ago, she, too, had known it. _

_It was harder to dismiss the one, sure fact which had come from Irene- that she would never learn to control the power she bore. Not ever would she be able to prevent stealing a piece of a person's soul with a simple touch._

_Irene awoke with dread, knowing perfectly well what was to happen. Stumbling upright, clutching her head, she knew what her duty was. She reached for the cell phone in her pocket she had been given for just such a case, dialing a number she knew by heart, each number in the exact position she knew it would be._

_Answer came swiftly. There was no response, only a waiting silence._

_"It's happened," Irene gasped. "And it's all gone exactly as we feared."_

_There was silence on the other end. "I'll send St. John after her."_

_Having a sudden, horrible vision- whether real or imagined was unsure- of a suburban neighborhood aflame, Irene protested at once. "No! Any mutant- particularly that one- will only create a larger disaster. Her powers are new. And the last thing we want is for her to learn further about our intentions. I can only imagine what she has learned. She absorbed me, Raven. Briefly, but…."_

_The smooth voice sounded ever so-slightly less suave than usual. "Whatever information she has can be revised or eliminated. She's young. She can be influenced and persuaded."_

_"She's stubborn," Irene countered. "And she took the book." Something brushed against her foot. Bending, she collected the pages scattered on the floor._

_"No!" Raven uttered in complete horror. "If she learns of what will happen, if it guides her to the one you foresaw-"_

_"Fate is, as always, on our side," Irene said with relief, running her hand against the raised marks on the page, the puncture holes she'd made to allow her to identify each and every page she'd created, her hand spurred on by destiny itself. Or at least, so she had always felt. "Several pages were ripped out."_

_"The pages? The ones on-"_

_"A few of them." Had the blind woman been able to see, her artwork and writing would have been visible to her, somewhat erratic and surprisingly vibrant. The one she now clutched tightly bore on it the vaguely sketched image of a young man in a trenchcoat, eyes painted a darkly burning red even as he sagged against the ground. His head was lifted in the arms of a girl who seemed to be crying tears of blood. The only thing outstanding about the faint sketching of the girl was the bright white lines colored into her hair. "I'm holding the one you're thinking of as we speak."_

_There was a sigh on the other line. "What shall I do? I can tell Creed to simply kill him."_

_Irene paused as she weighed the possibility. "No," she said decisively. "The gambling devil may yet aid our cause. The woman of the daggers is our only hope now."_

_Disdainfully, the woman on the other end responded, "Are you actually suggesting that the Boudreaux girl should be used- for this?"_

_"She is the only reason we know of this LeBeau person as it is. He seems to be the one, from what you have told me. He fits the role."_

_"Alright," Mystique said sharply. "I'll send her after Rogue. But she may well kill her."_

_Irene, closing her milky eyes, whispered, "That may be for the best."_

_She could tell that hurt Raven. "Acceptable," the woman said at last. "Tell me where she'll go. Oh… Irene… her hair… did…"_

_"It's changed as I predicted," the woman said. Pained, she said softly, "Her pretty hair…" She delicately touched her own whitening locks in sympathy._

_"It'll make her more intriguing. And easier to find," Mystique said flatly. "Irene…"_

_As she waited for the vision to strike her, as she knew it would, Irene ran her hand over another of the pages, which showed a school of youngsters which had once been a possibility, but now would never be. Although she could not see it, she knew what was scrawled above it.** Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.**_

_All things change, and we change with them._

_Standing alone on the fringe of the highway, staring up at the moon, Rogue waited for someone to stop and pick her up. She hugged her shoulders tightly, chin set. Guilt overwhelmed her for what had happened to Cody. And Irene's actions would confuse her forever, she suspected. But somehow… she felt a rush of exhilaration, accompanied by the exhaustion of walking and running for an hour or so, which overcame all other senses and self-doubt. She stared down the open road, realizing what she was actually doing, that she had no plan, little money, no clothes… and that she wouldn't have to go to school on Monday._

_She shivered. Somehow, she felt as if her life had just actually begun. She didn't want powers. She didn't know what to do with them. She'd never fit in anywhere, though. None of that mattered. She didn't know how to be normal. She hadn't been raised that way._

_Trying not to glare at the drivers heading towards her and forcing a very tight smile onto her face, Rogue held up her hand, belatedly remembering to jerk her thumb in the direction she was heading. She waited, knowing someone would eventually stop. Knowing that all those stories Ms. Darkholme had frightened her with when she'd tried running away at nine with a stuffed bunny along no longer applied to her._

_Still…_

_It was a cold night in Mississippi._


	3. Of Trains

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Yet.

And I forgot to add that I borrowed the Latin phrase last chapter from Neil Gaiman's 1602, it's on the sign for that version of Xavier's institute. I recommend it if you haven't read it, it's got lots of Marvel characters but only the 5 original X-Men and a few of their baddies. Oh, and I should also disclaim, or whatever you say, by mentioning I've been using Though often it spouts it back wrong, so I have to double check it by then reverse translating. Just to clarify that whenever I use a language in this story, I am not such a genius that the translation is being done by myself. There, that's disclaimed, let us not speak of it again.

A/N: Reviews! Yeah!

Thank you to enchantedlight and Chica De Los Ojos Café for reviewing. Very much appreciated.

ishandahalf- I like playing with fate. I'm big on mythology, and I actually had for years this story I was writing, by hand, on page after page which had fate at its center. That got scrapped, eventually. And I read a lot. But it leaves me with very distinct ideas on it which I used on Destiny, 'cause she's fun since she can see the future and all. Sorry if its confusing at all, but it is so good for plot! The basic of what Irene was yabbering on about was that there were two distinct directions Rogue's life could have gone in, since the future's constantly in motion (there's the question where fate and AUs collide and seem to contradict each other- I figure the difference is things may happen differently if you turn left, or right, but you'll still encounter the same folk you were meant to and all that stuff), but one had been more likely than the other. And she and Mystique didn't like that one, so they were fiddling with things as best they could until the other one seemed the most likely outcome. But Rogue, herself, with the emergence of her powers slightly earlier than anticipated, although in the same way (fate can be sped or postponed, but rarely changed- so sixteen rather than seventeen, to a very different outcome, though there's more to it than that), threw that off. Irene's vision of the future changed- Rogue had basically ruined all chance for the future they wanted. Which left a future they want to avoid. But there's still a chance things could work out the way they want to- best chance being to send Belle. The question I'm leaving being exactly what this fate is, and whether or not it can be avoided- cause I've got this whole little idea on that. So they weren't exactly trying to change fate, or change it now, just edge it in the direction more favorable to them. Rogue could use your sympathy, so it's good you give it. After this chapter, she'll really need it. And fun to hear I got you with Irene and the knife! I thrive in being unpredictable whenever I can. And Gambit'll be about shortly, and Rogue has to deal with Belle below. And she'll be back. I hope I get her attitude right, since I wanted to go somewhere in between sullen and sassy, and she's fun. Carol Danvers might be from Boston, I actually thought she was New York but I could be way off base. Even so, she's not there. Good guess, but she's occupied elsewhere. I've got plans for her, too, and most of the X-Men, though they'll kind of be popping in and out. 'Cept a few. Yeah, and Mystique had other plans for Belle, 'cause if she'd known Rogue was going anywhere, she'd have been tied down, but yep- grand tapestry of fate weaving and unraveling itself. Appreciate the approval of rambling, since that's kind of what I did. A lot. And hah! I am fast. I got it up! Though it's doubtful I'll ever be this quick again. I am Speedy Gonzalez! Andale! Andale!

Jean Duex- Aw, shucks. Your compliments are really very much appreciated, particularly since you nail on the head some of the stuff I worry about. I'm really glad you liked my last line, 'cause a lot of times I have problems ending and go on and on and on… and you get the idea. But I'm glad you like the length, too. I tend to be kind of verbose. And I'm thrilled you liked the way I did her thought process and stuff, since I really focused on that a lot last chapter, since I've always been interested in what it's like for Rogue when she absorbs them, since she suddenly knows all this stuff she doesn't. So I tried to do that. And I really have always been curious about Destiny's Diaries, too, and I had some fun ideas with that, and hence this story sprang up. So thanks much and keep reading!

Thanks if you're reading this and surviving/ignoring my ongoing musings, so keep reading and I hope you like it! I had fun with this chapter, so I really hope you like it, but even if you don't, please review and tell me! Now, carry on!

It wasn't all that big a city, but she felt tiny anyways. Not liking that feeling in the least, Rogue scowled fiercely at the bright streetlamp which seemed ridiculously cheery.

It hadn't taken as long as she'd expected to get here. It had taken a ridiculously long time to get picked up, though, leading Rogue to start heading down the highway herself, concerned Irene would send the cops after her. Luckily, a trucker had stopped to pick her up just as it started to rain. She'd eyed him somewhat apprehensively, questioning his motives, but he'd been an amiable, big-boned guy who did not cease talking, unless it was to sing yet another rambling old song, mainly from the era of Porter, Berlin, and Gershwin. The next person to break out into "Don't Fence Me In" in her presence was going to _die_. But the time they'd made was remarkable, as the fellow was not about to stop for anything or anyone. Rogue had actually got out a bit prematurely when he'd stopped for gas, since the guy desperately wanted company and she really doubted he'd remember to halt when they got to the nearest city. Attempting to hitchhike the rest of the way was not productive at all. An old woman had pulled over to scold her about loose morals (she could, in retrospect, have referred to the woman in a more polite term, such as 'meddlesome old hag'), and some idiots about her age had come to their own conclusions over why a young girl would be wandering about in the middle of the night and pulled over to ask her what her going rate was. It had taken her a second more than usual to comprehend what they'd apparently mistaken her for, and then she went for their throats. They'd left in a bit of a hurry. So she'd walked for a couple more miles, until she reached a town that actually had a bus stop. It should have been a short trip, but considering she'd had to walk and all, five hours since she left home, or at least she figured since she never wore a watch, was not bad time.

And Vicksburg had a train station. Which was of the good.

But she didn't know where it was. Which was considerably less good.

The city was small, which was disappointing to a small-town girl who had to admit the thought of skyscrapers was enticing, and filled with lots of historical sights. Although it was apparently scenic, the area she'd landed in was somewhat grungy. She had only a book, not even a coat, and she was still shy one glove. Rogue tried to keep her left hand in her pocket, but it was still annoyingly sore.

One horrid little thought was nagging at the back of her mind, too. She kept trying to think of how to get away in a way that wouldn't be anticipated, but it was impossible to forget the new, alarming knowledge that Irene could see the future. Every move she made could be bringing her right back towards their waiting arms. Her guardian's actions back home- no, not home anymore- had made it all too plain they weren't going to just sit back and smile and go, oh yes, dear, run along..

Plus, she was hungry. She'd counted the money, just under a thousand bucks, but she had no idea when or how she'd be able to get anymore, so she didn't want to spend it. Instead, she'd bought discount candy canes from the gas station, the cheapest thing there, and was using the plastic bag to tote around the book as well. She didn't think it was a good idea, though, to drag one out and start nibbling on it in the middle of the street. It wasn't as if she really liked the things, anyhow. She preferred cinnamon to peppermint, and anyhow, they made her think of Christmas, little more than a month ago, when Irene had given her that sweater she'd knitted her. And, oddly, they made her miss her toothbrush. It was strange, the little things, but right now she'd have traded a Benjamin Franklin to have her own toothbrush back.

Jeez. She hoped to run into a McDonald's soon, but thus far no luck. The Dollar Menu actually sounded good about now. And sleep wouldn't hurt.

Noticing someone looking at her, she began to whistle jauntily, stalking down the street without a care in the world. Look like you own the place, and people will rarely figure out you're not where you're supposed to be. She'd picked up on that while skipping class to sit in the comfortable school library. That, at least, she didn't miss in the slightest. She wondered if they'd still call her name when Monday rolled around, or if everyone would be gossiping that she was missing. Frankly, she didn't give a damn.

Her eyes landed at last on a small telephone booth. Not the kind Superman would dive into to change in, but a rather less private phone on a post, with only two extending sides to give even an illusion of discretion. The slightest of grins escaping onto her lips, she darted over at once.

As she'd expected, there was a large, invitingly thick phone book. Pulling her ungloved hand out, she paged through the thin, clingy sheets back into the yellow pages. Bending over it, hair falling down about her face, she turned to T with confidence. Aha, there was Trailers, and…

She paused, finger traveling down the page,

Training.

Slightly unnerved, she carried on down, reading carefully, until with relief she spotted Trains.

It was a second later she noticed the words Miniature and Models next to it.

"Hellfire and damnation," she spat out quietly, looking about. No way was she stopping someone to ask for directions. She carefully scanned the page, assuring herself she had made a mistake, only to find she hadn't.

Irene would probably know where in the book to look. But she was not about to go digging into the woman's lingering memories to figure it out. She simply wouldn't. Not happening. She'd go through the entire book first.

Something very tiny and wet splashed onto Rogue's head. Wincing, she willed the night sky to be clear and bright, then slowly turned her face up.

The dark sky was covered by full-bodied, overlapping tufts of black cloud. Even as she turned her face toward it, she felt a few plopping drops land on her cheeks in cool, damp bursts, even as she belatedly noticed spots on her clothes. The few, lingering walkers of the night looked distinctly unhappy and began, one by one, to scurry away.

Rogue groaned slightly and stared at the book. "Why does Mother Nature hate meh?" she grumbled to herself, looking about quickly in all directions. Satisfied no one was looking, she closed the large phone book. Eyes casting warily about, she tucked the large book stubbornly under her arm and trying desperately not to look awkward, she stalked off. Vaguely remembering the bus stop just a bit back had a sheltered bench, she headed straight back the way she came, shooting death glares at any passerby who looked at her and the phone book and bag which obviously contained another large book she was busy balancing.

In something of a huff, she settled down impatiently once she'd reached her destination, trying to tuck herself all the way out of the rain. Her feet, unavoidably, would get wet, but her boots were water resistant, anyways. She'd wanted combat boots, but she'd gotten hiking boots instead. They were useful enough, though, and she was really glad she'd chosen to wear those to the party instead of the shoes Irene had suggested. Sneakers might have been best, but if she had to kick anyone, these would have a very pleasant effect.

She flipped through the pages, mind racing, trying to think of anything that might work. She tried Train under the white pages, but that wasn't even a last name. Bringing to mind everything she knew of trains, a word popped into her head, from Ms. Darkholme mentioning her dislike for traveling on them long ago. Amtrak. Hopeful, Rogue turned quickly through the yellow pages. Her shoulder slumped slightly. So much for that.

"Hey, girlie, yah gonna get on or not?" a voice shouted. She looked up. Rogue hadn't even heard a bus pull in, but the door was open and a clearly annoyed fellow was staring at her with a weary, pinched face. She was somewhat surprised they were still running at this hour.

"One second," she called back, a bit snappily, holding up one finger. She wasn't sure whether or not she would be, but she had one last chance. Doubtful, she flipped to the white pages, turning to the A's. The alphabet song Irene had sung endlessly when she was little was running through her head.

There it was. The listing for the station. Somewhat shocked, she didn't hesitate, jumping up before the bus left. Without bothering to think about it, she tore the page out in one smooth motion, dropping the rest of the book to the sopping wet ground.

The driver gave her a distinctly odd look as she took the steps onto the bus two at a time.

She tapped the address, handing it to him. "Can yah take meh there?"

He scratched his chin, looking at it. "We run past there, yeah. Make sure yah pay attention for yah stop, yeah?"

Rogue, glowing slightly with the small triumph, settled down as far back as she could, arms crossed over the bulging plastic bag. She narrowed her eyes, noticing the other few occupants of the bus, none of whom she'd have wanted to encounter in a dark alley, even the women. She looked at her free hand with a mixture of loathing and some small satisfaction. None of them could really threaten her. She paused. Unless they had a gun. That would be a problem.

It took surprisingly brief a time to reach the station, and Rogue, insuring she stayed quite alert, was up in a hurry. Noticing the bus driver's suspicious glare, she dug a five out of her pocket.

"Ah want every cent of the change," she told him fiercely, the driver looking apt to pocket it.

Scowling, he rattled around for a minute before he produced the last penny. She counted it swiftly, and looked up. "Y'all are a dime short," she said sweetly.

"Ah, for the love of-" He handed her the dime, beady eyes narrowed with annoyance.

She got off with something of a spring in her step. Clutching her plastic bag, she reviewed her sob story in case she needed it. Simple, but effective, with no elaborate lies to get caught up in. Her father hit her mother, she was afraid he'd turn on her next, and the cops were no good since her mother wouldn't press charges. Good. Plus, it was something she could quickly back up with facts. She'd enough people in Child Services who had loved to tell her horror stories and review how lucky she was, and that she ought to smile more. It apparently took more muscles to frown than to smile. If that was so, Rogue had pointed out on more than one occasion when faced with this cheery cliché, it was strange that retaining a smile caused the lips to hurt, while a frown did no such thing. This was usually greeted by silence while the adult figured out the quickest escape.

There were very few people there, just a few waiting about and a couple people who might have been homeless sitting on the benches. She didn't even bother glancing at the icily blond woman with sunglasses, ridiculous at this time of night, reading a magazine, or seeming to. The two sets of tracks were there, though, visible just a bit away through the boarding platforms, with a train waiting there, and there was a ticket booth right ahead.

She walked up to it, slapping her hand on the counter to get the dozing clerk's attention. "What's the next train out of heah?" she demanded, dark green eyes blazing.

He jumped. "Uh… that one there's leaving back to Nashville at six A. M. That's…" he glanced at the clock behind him, "ten minutes. It's mainly cargo, but there's some passenger cars up front."

Rogue nodded. Not as far as she wanted to get, but the sooner the better. She failed to notice a young woman rise gracefully, and begin walking over with clicking heels. She had long sleeves and high heels, the rest of her outfit a clinging black, showcasing her thin, tall, willowy frame. "How much?" she asked quickly, grabbing one of the hundreds.

He checked the price guidelines in front of him, his pimply, youthful face wearied. "Twenty dollars, miss."

Rocked, she stared. "Twenty?" she asked hoarsely.

"That's for a seat, only. A sleeper car is more. If yah don't have it, yah really sh-"

"Oh, Ah have it," she said, shaking her head. She handed him a twenty, trying not to beam.

"Plus tax," he added.

She handed him a couple singles, and took her change. "Thank yah," Rogue said, half of a smile bringing one side of her lips up. He hadn't asked to check her bag. Or for a passport. Just hand over the money, and bam! She loved the railroad.

He blushed. "Platform Three, miss. Ah'd suggest boarding at once."

"Sure thing," she said willingly, pulling the plastic bag over her shoulder.

Turning, she headed towards the train, opposite in direction to where the woman was coming from. Belle, annoyed, considered simply jumping over the benches that blocked her way, but had a more subtle idea. She slapped money on the counter, sunglasses dropping down the merest smidge on her nose to just reveal the venom in her ice blue eyes. "Same as her," she ordered to the young man in a hiss. "Put me on dat train. Now."

Something about the woman made him fumble to hand over the ticket. She snatched it. "Keep de change," she told him, not in the slightest way polite, and picked up her pace. The girl had the book Mystique had talked about, obviously in the bag, which its red leather was poking out of. She was a bit taller than Belladonna had anticipated, though not by much, and she had to be a bit older than she looked in the picture. Her walk was not that of an athlete, and it was neither self-assured nor the hunched posture which attempted to escape attention. Her walk suggested no challenge. She did not carry herself like a fighter, and certainly not like an assassin. Belle, subtly, shifted the weight she was placing on the ball and heel of her foot so that her shoes no longer clicked, but fell with complete silence.

Rogue ignored the uniformed fellow who offered to take her bag, stepping on board without any attempt to bar her or search what she carried. The compartments were relatively empty, except for a businessman talking on a cell phone and a couple sleepy people, one young fellow tightly clutching a guitar. No one even looked at her. So what was with the feeling she was being watched?

There was no warning noise, not even the slightest sound of the swish in the air. It was mere instinct that caused Rogue to look up and catch in the window across from her the slightest reflection of a figure behind her, raising the opposite end of a knife towards her head.

She dropped and dove to the side, leaving the woman to grasp air. Rogue, splayed on the ground, scrambled upright to turn and face her assailant.

Quirking an eyebrow at her from behind a pair of sunglasses, the woman, who couldn't really be that much older than Rogue herself, was plainly no deranged homeless person. She flipped the dagger the other way around, the remarkably flat but dangerously sharp blade grimly aimed at the girl. "I was rat'er hopin' yo'd do dat," she said smoothly. Rogue backed away, the woman didn't move, and everyone else on the train was now thoroughly alert. In fact, they were so alert they were already on their way out the door.

"We can do dis de easy way, or de…. y'know what, dere's pretty much only the hard way," she said with a shrug.

"That's real original, lady," said Rogue, eyeing the people scrambling out of the compartment, who didn't give her a second look. She continued to step back, noticing the woman, who stood still, legs slightly apart and bent the tiniest bit, was confident enough to not even bother to step closer.

She was about to say something else, but the woman spoke first. "Y'll have to forgive me. I don' usually speak wit' my targets. De dead ain't de best conversationalists."

That was clearly meant to intimidate her. It was working, but she'd be damned if she would show it. "Look, swamp snake," Rogue said in soothing tones, having recognized the woman's accent at once as Cajun, having heard it a few times when some passed through Caldecott County, "Ah got no quarrel with yah. 'Side from the fact that yah just tried to split mah head open, but bygones be bygones, right?" She was sliding further away every moment. The door to the next car of the train was getting closer, and the longer she could stall, the better. "So, y'know, be a good gal and slither off, maybe ferget yah ever saw meh, an' ah won't be forced to do y'all grievous injury."

The woman twirled the knife absently, other shooting from her sleeve to land in her other hand. She spun them both, somewhat flashily, in her black gloved hands. "How generous," she said in dulcet tones.

Rogue wondered if getting this woman angry would make her less or more dangerous. She figured the latter. And from the way the woman was twirling those flat daggers, with more skill than a cheerleader with a baton, she had the unhappy feeling that she'd already be dead if that was this woman's goal. Instead, she was toying with her, the way a cat toyed with a mouse. Her brows furrowed as she scowled. She was no mouse. And if the woman thought she was, she'd quickly find she was the mouse who roared. Maybe infuriating her would make her less calculating, throw her off, allow Rogue to get away. Maybe it would lead her to kill her target. Ah, well. Liberty or death and all that jazz.

"Better believe it, lady," she said, forcing as much of a sneer if she could manage. She flattened herself against the carpeted wall next to the doorway, and noticed the daggers had stopped twirling. They hung, poised, waiting to fly into her throat if she tried anything, like reaching for the sliding door into the next car. "Ah hope for yah sake Mystique warned yah about meh," Rogue said viciously, or in what she hoped was a vicious tone, holding her ungloved hand in front of her and slowly curling it into a talon. She held it stiff, the muscle straining, trying to remember the villain from all those movies she'd seen, but Irene had tried to keep Rogue strictly on Disney movies as a child, hoping it would normalize her, apparently. She looked up out of hooded eyes. "About what ah am."

There was the slightest, tiniest piece of hesitation in the woman's eyes. Exactly what she was hoping for. The woman didn't know what her mutant ability was, then. And Rogue, like everyone else, had read the stories in the paper of the 'horrific' things mutants were capable. Playing with minds, throwing fire about, all sorts of wild things. Rogue fervently wished her power was long range right about now. She kept on the most intimidating voice she could manage, bending her head to let her hair fall into her face slightly and smirking in the creepy way that kid in her class used to do. She raised her hand, as her right, the one holding the bag, snaked behind her. "See you in h-" She cut off midway as she flung the compartment door open and threw herself through. She landed hard, skidding on top of the book as it slid right out of the loosed bag. She grabbed it, forgetting the candy canes.

Scrambling upright to her knees, knowing the woman was a bit behind and blocked by the half-open door, she zigged and zagged, ducking her head to make herself as small a target as possible. "Someone!" she shouted to the empty compartment, wondering where they'd gone. Actually, they'd probably gotten off the train, she realized, that being the smartest thing, and were already forgetting about her. The human thing to do, she thought bitterly, particularly these days- pretend you didn't see what you saw. "Hey, help!" Although shouting as loud as she could, it didn't do any good, as the train, with loud chugs, started up. It hadn't gotten going yet, but the whistle was running.

She reached the door and tugged desperately at it with her free hand, finding it locked. A sleeping car, apparently. She swiveled, looking for the door off the train, only to see, in a split-second, two swift, screaming objects coming towards her.

They hit almost at once, one dagger a split-second before. It snagged the cloth of her shirt, pinning her right side perfectly to the carpeted wall. Before she could even feel relief, the second sunk deeply into her left shoulder, in one swift burst of pain. Gasping, she bit down on her lip so hard it bled, but didn't cry out. The book tumbled to the ground. She might have sunk to the floor, but the daggers held her up. Trembling, she eased her right hand under her left elbow.

The pain in her shoulder was sudden and intense, a terrible ache which erased all but the clear, bright knowledge of pain from her mind. She'd never been injured like this, not since she'd broken her arm trying to jump off a shed as a little girl, and that had gone numb with the shock. The dagger went clean through her shoulder, she knew, and only a faint trail of blood oozed out of the wound, which was visible through the sudden hole in her shirt. Rogue knew, in some corner of her mind, it would begin to bleed more heavily when the dagger was removed.

The woman slunk into the room a second later, sauntering with a little smile on her lips. Rogue could envision her purring without any trouble. The sunglasses were still in place. "Oops," she said, studying the pinned girl with a widening smile. "I missed." Rogue wondered which of the daggers she was referring too. The woman adjusted her sunglasses slightly.

Shaking still, her lips trembling slightly, Rogue managed to spit out, "A-ah'd imagine yah think t-those glasses make yah look awful s-sophisticated. H-hate to tell yah this, lady, they're somethin' of a fashion disaster ann-nd frankly make meh wonder if yah've been cryin' over somethin' so that yah have to hide y-"

"Silence, moufette." The woman glared, pushing the glasses up onto her forehead, revealing dangerous eyes like two chips of ice.

Rogue managed a smile. She couldn't move her left arm without causing bursts of pain, but she pressed down with her left elbow anyway, easing her green glove off but keeping both hand and glove pressed tightly against her body. "Seems ah got the advantage now anyhow," she gasped. "After all, ah'm the one with the daggers."

The young woman tossed her pale blond hair, laughing. "Fille drole," she remarked sardonically. Her hands went to the small of her back and came forward with two more daggers, longer than the last two.

Rogue breathed hard, trying desperately to ignore the splitting pain in her left shoulder. The woman needed to get closer. The train jerked, beginning slowly to move forward. "Got no manners whatsoevah, have yah, ma'am?" she asked conversationally, though her voice came out in a painful rasp. "Ain't polite to talk to someone in a language they don't know."

Voices were rising in the back of her mind, coming back as she felt like she might faint.

**_You fool, you couldn't just stay put! None of this would have happened if you'd just stayed where you were meant to! Now look at you, you daft girl! You don't listen!_**

_**Yah promised! Yah SWORE yah'd do something to save me! Newsflash, Rogue, that's not gonna happen if yah're dead!**_

She winced at the pounding noise, head rolling to the right.

The woman gave a sort of muffled laugh, lips together in a cruel sneer. "Y're quite amusin'. I wonder if y're screams are so entertainin'."

Rogue forced her head up, muffling the voices in her head. "Twisted sense of entertainment yah've got there. Maybe y' should get a hobby. Or a cat."

The woman laughed, fiddling with her blade. "Dis is mon passion."

"Greeaat," Rogue drawled, fighting back the burning edge of tears. Her chin was trembling, but she forced it up. The woman stepped closer, eyeing the book.

Just a little bit nearer…

Rogue jerked her leg out and swept the book closer to her. "Yah'll have ta kill meh to take that," she said in as strong a voice as she could manage, although it was wobbling, and she really didn't care all that much about the book, besides that Irene didn't want her to have it.

"Oh, dat does sound appealin'," the woman responded, giving her a venomous look. "But I don' t'ink y're worth da time spent cleanin' any mo' o' mon lames."

Rogue drew back her upper lip slightly. Her mind raced, trying to think of the word which had gotten the young Cajun girl who'd eaten in a diner in Caldecott County so furious. It took only a moment. "H-hate to inconvenience yah, madam coonass," she drawled with a smile.

Fury etching her perfect face, the woman jerked the knife blade around so that the thicker hilt was towards her. "Y' beginning to get tiresome," she snarled, and raised the hilt in one snapping movement at Rogue's head.

In a flash, Rogue's right hand snapped out and slapped the young woman on the face, dragging her palm across it for as long as she could manage before the woman pulled back, staggered only slightly.

It didn't give her much. She knew the woman's name was Belladonna Bordeaux, she was from New Orleans (no kidding), she was an assassin, she had a deceased brother named Julian, and Rogue suddenly understand the French she'd been flinging about. But importantly, it gave her what she'd been going for.

The woman's physical memory.

Bitch! a voice in her head screamed briefly, before fading, not having held on long enough to sustain much of a- what had Irene called them- psyche.

Rogue's arms reached up, the left one arching through the pain, and swiftly yanked the daggers out of her shoulder as if drawing them from a sheath. No longer pinned, the chugging of the train unsteadied her, and it wasn't helped by the steady stream of blood which suddenly rushed from her weeping wound. But Rogue forced herself to bear it. She stood upright, clutching the daggers, one slick with her own blood. She forced herself not to look at it, Cody's nausea rising up. She beat it back. Blood didn't bother her.

She spun the daggers and clinked them together. Belle, staggered somewhat herself, glared at the girl, raising her longer daggers defensively. "Parasite," she snarled.

"Non," Rogue corrected, grim. She gestured to herself with one of the daggers. "Mutant. Deal with it."

Belle lunged first, dagger expertly slicing for Rogue's side. She countered, Belle's memory telling her to hold the knives not as she would a sword, but reversed, the flat hilt clutched in a fist which allowed her to strike forward in jabs.

Belle kept her knives low, like a professional, rather than striking down from above as an amateur did. Rogue mimicked her with ease. As the taller woman slashed at Rogue's thigh with a knife, the girl met her blade and looped it around, the flicking movement intended to send Belladonna's blade flying. Of course, the woman held on easily, slashing up towards Rogue's face. She leaned back just enough, hooking her leg around in a blade kick, which forced Belle's right knee down.

She twisted on her knee instead, extending her other leg in a slashing kick. Rogue jumped up to avoid her leg, then stepped back as the woman sprang to her feet. She dodged, landing on one of the seats of the train as Belle swung with both in expert, crossing extensions and slashes. She scrambled over the seat, tumbling down in time to parry with her smaller knife the strike aimed at her heart. Instead, the long blade scraped painfully along her wrist, drawing blood. Rogue stepped back ever so slightly at the fresh pain.

Seeing an opportunity, Belle slashed for Rogue's legs, aiming for her tendons, which would keep her from running. Rogue, rather than stepping back, stepped closer, allowing Belle to overreach as she plunged one of her daggers straight into the woman's thigh. Belle, rather than reacting, countered by thrusting one of her long daggers straight at Rogue.

She surprised herself entirely as Belle's reactions led her to flip out of the way. It was a quick, bending of the knees and a push back, and suddenly she was looking at the ground upside down, her hair in her face, doing almost a somersault in the air. Next thing she knew, her feet were planted firmly on the ground and her shoulder, if possible, hurt worse than before, feeling as if the wound had been wrenched even wider. She stared, at the spot where she had been one moment ago, where the dagger had extended from Belle's hand to what would have been her stomach, had she not now been a good foot or so further back.

The other woman's eyes registered surprise. "Merde," she hissed, and spun the daggers wildly, trying to confuse Rogue. It was working. Belle's physical memory seemed to be fading, and she was left with her own, which was somewhat confused on what to with a dagger in this position. Her other dagger was still sticking out of Belle's thigh. She could only see the clashing, gleaming daggers heading for her head. She stepped back.

Her foot brushed against something. The book. Hating herself for doing it, she remembered Cody telling her he punted on the football team. Unlike the vague sense of Irene and the almost nonexistent sense of Belle, Cody's presence was easy to feel and only a brief, thin wall separated her knowledge from the remainder of his.

**_Cody!_ **she thought as loudly as he could.

**_You're covered._**

Instincts that weren't hers flipped the book forward and its edge up. Her foot drew back at a ridiculously high speed, sending the heavy book suddenly up and forward. It smashed into Belle's face, surprising her.

In the brief second's pause, Cody's instincts dropping back to leave only her own, Rogue launched herself forward, ignoring Belle's daggers. Her right fist impacted with Belle's jaw, the dagger still in it unintentionally etching a red line down the woman's face. The touch of Rogue's skin staggered the assassin even further.

Letting the dagger drop, Rogue let her flat palm rest on the woman's face as her own long daggers fell to the ground. As Belle wrenched her head away, Rogue, despite the pain, forced her left hand up as well, to clasp both sides of her face. She shook as the memories flooded into her.

_"Non, like dis, Belle," a boy with ice blue eyes told her, adjusting her grip on the toy. "Essayer encore."_

_The plastic kitchen knife which had come with her pink tea party set plunged into the doll, shredding the cotton insides. The little girl squealed in delight. "I did it! Jules, I did it right dis time!"_

_He poked it disdainfully. "It's not much fun when de insides are only cotton," he said, disappointed. Then he brightened. "I'll get y' a real dagger, eh, Belle? Dat'll be fun, non? Can use it on dem annoying chiens dat belong ta dat id'jut down de street, huh?"_

_She crinkled her nose, somewhat horrified. "On de dogs, Jules? What'd dey do?"_

_He considered. "Yeah, y' right, mon soeur. Only worth it if someone pays us to do it, non? Ot'erwise, not wort' de trouble. Maybe y' can try it on a t'ief, den."_

_"Is a t'ief like a chat?" she asked, eyes wide. "'Cause I wouldn' mind doin' somet'in' bad ta a chat."_

_Julian laughed. "Yep, de ti'eves in N'Awlins are like chats. Y' go kill 'em, Belle, chere." _

_"'Kay. T'ink Angelique'll play t'ieves and 'sassins wit' me?"_

_"No relative o' Marius Boudreaux'll ever want ta play de t'ief," Julian told her, opening his mouth to add something else._

_The man stared at her, eyes wide and fearful. He looked at the gun in her hand. "Please," he whispered. "Have pity. You're just a girl. Don't you have any mercy?"_

_She looked at him coldly, trying not to let those watching know the gun in her hand was shaking. She stared at the gun, paused a moment, and tightened her hold on the trigger. She'd fired a thousand times into test dummies. This wasn't any different. Still, she paused. "Pere?" she said, turning to the man beside her._

_Disappointed, Marius asked slowly, "What?"_

_"De man wants pity," she said sweetly. "He don't want to be shot. Ain't dat right, sir?"_

_He nodded, fervently, down on his knees._

_"So I'd like t' have de knife," she said, holding out her hand. "So all who see 'im'll 'ave pity."_

_Grinning, her brother handed her a dagger and sat back to watch._

"_Y' a fool, Remy. Y'always been one an' y'always'll be one. Y' shouldn' turn down an offer like de one mon pere offered."_

_A young man swiveled around, eyes masked by sunglasses the shade of obsidian. He had youthful features, probably around the age of seventeen, with high cheekbones set into a face reminiscent of the classical heroes of old. A mass of unruly but short brown hair, lightened by the natural red mingled with it, fell across his face. "'E's mon pere, Belle. Y' t'ink I'd betray him 'cause y' daddy says so?"_

_She laughed, and he stiffened. "'E ain't y' fat'er. Y' know dat, no matter what de gossips say o' what y' want ta t'ink. Y' useful ta him. Y' a tool."_

_He stared at her, features tense, though the glasses hid his true expression. "Wouldn' be anyt'in mo' ta an assassin. Why would y' t'ink I want ta be like y', Belle? I don' wanna aid dis vendetta y' pere's got against mine, 'least not on dat man's side. I'm no killer."_

_She drew herself up, offended and hurt. "Dat how y' t'ink o' me?" she hissed. "A killer? Someone-"_

_"Y' know dat ain't de way I feel 'bout y', Belle."_

_"And in what way is dat different from how y' feel 'bout de ot'er pretty filles, hmm?"_

_He didn't blush, but he removed the sunglasses. His eyes blazed with a red iris, against black, but she didn't flinch or look away. "D'ere distractions. Y' somet'in else. But I'm not de sort o' homme who'd betray mon pere 'n frere fo' a femme. E'en you."_

_"Yeah, well, y're gonna go straight ta de top o' mon pere an' mon frere's list o' who should die."_

_He looked grievously offended. "I jus' saved his life! I went an' warned 'im 'bout de dat cousin 'bout to betray y' an' off y' pere, an dat's de t'anks I get?"_

_She scowled. "Y' conveniently fo'gettin' de bit where y' robbed us. An' de offeh was y' t'anks."_

_"Dieu. I'm e'er so t'ankful."_

_The light in his ice blue eyes was dimming as she cradled his head. "Jules," she whispered, fingering his white blond hair, identical to her own. "Wake up. Don' leave me here alone."_

_He gasped for air, eyes wild, clutching at the wound in his throat. He opened his mouth, yet again, trying to tell her something. It paused, frozen, halfway._

_For once, no touch of coldness tinged her. She sobbed, brokenly, as she was forced to close her brother's eyes. _

_It seemed a long, long while before she felt the softest brush of a touch on her shoulder. A hand which had drying blood still on it._

_"Belle," said a hoarse voice._

_Her eyes closed as he began to apologize. He didn't notice her hand reaching for the dagger which he had dropped on her brother's chest. _

_He didn't notice it until she whirled around, eyes as wild as her brother's had been, to plunge it into his chest. His red eyes looked at her, bewildered and broken, as he staggered back._

_She'd missed his heart. Clutching her dagger, she advanced on the injured man. "Le diable blanc," she hissed at him, and he looked at her, pained. "Regarder sur votre mort."_

"Get out o' my head!" Belle shouted, shoving her hands off and bringing Rogue out of her memories. Her head reeling, she tried to advance towards the girl stumbling back, not even managing to move her feet. She was already halfway down to the floor. "Y'-y'- bitch," she managed at last, eyes distant, as she stumbled about. She sagged, out of it, and fell at last, completely unconscious.

Rogue, struggling with the screaming of French insults and cries to drain her further, apparently with the other psyches, staggered back. She hadn't held on that long, longer than she had with Irene, considerably shorter than with Cody. But the memories of this woman, the way she looked at the world, was oddly, terrifying in tune with the way Rogue herself viewed it at times. She stared at the woman, fighting her onslaught of memories, pushing them back, fighting to insure not an inch of this woman's character escaped into herself, because she did not want to have even the slightest bit of Belladonna Bordeaux within or, and if she did not rid herself of it now, she did not think she'd be able to recognize or lose it later. Every inch of Belle, she focused into going into an image of the woman herself, into the voice screaming at her in all kinds of unpleasant ways. It wasn't as difficult as she'd expected, but the girl still felt somewhat shocked. She had the feeling Mystique- Ms. Darkholme- would be quite happy to see Rogue be someone like Belle.

She looked at the woman, obviously breathing, and wondered how long she had until she woke up, because she knew she would wake up. There was a temptation to drain her all the way, she admitted. She knew Belle would come after her again, and that nothing would stop her. She'd be even more dangerous, since it was doubtful she'd care for keeping her alive anymore. But if Rogue killed Belle now, defenseless, if she killed her ever, would she be all that different from her? Self-defense, she thought argumentatively. Still, she couldn't. And the thought that every assassin Belle's father knew would be on her tail if she did wasn't what made up her mind instantly for her.

And she supposed, in a tiny bit of her mind, she felt sorry for her. She'd been raised to kill, and Rogue had definitely been raised for ulterior motives herself. Belle had lost her brother, and, she suspected, murdered the man she loved because of it. There was an element of sympathy, which she really did not want to have. She felt a lot more sympathy for the guy she'd killed. His eyes had ached with pain, and he'd seemed to have been a mutant, too. And he'd been painfully, painfully handsome.

She hated the new knowledge in her head. Hated it. She knew some fighting, and she'd taken a couple self-defense courses, all through eighth grade, but now she knew lots of ways to kill a man. She knew the spots to strike where the most pain would be caused. She knew what dead bodies looked like and that assassins did not stop until their objective was fulfilled.

She also knew where she could find help.

Her arm seemed to have gone numb, but was still bleeding heavily, which might be worse. She hoped she wasn't going into shock. Rogue grabbed the book. She had one thought- she had to get off this train.

Well, there was a second thought, too. She was tired, and thirsty, and her scrapes really hurt, not to mention her aching, benumbed left arm, which let to an almost uncontrollable desire for water.

Wisely, she chose to depart. Standing, she paused. She considered the daggers, dismissed them, then eyed Belle's gloves.

Bending, carefully, she yanked them off, holding onto the woman's sleeves to do so, and slid them on. "Lamb's skin," she commented. "Probably expensive." Rogue glanced at the unconscious woman. "Consider it payment for the shoulder, swamp wench." Weary, disheartened, but momentarily pleased, she headed off.

She raced back towards where she had entered the train, realizing at once when she saw it that she wouldn't be able to open the door and ramp they'd used for boarding. It didn't take long, though, to get back to one of the cargo holds, which seemed to be carrying computer equipment.

She was going to jump off the train. "Ah'm gonna be fine," she assured herself. "Of course ah'll be fine." With a great deal of effort, she managed to tug one of the sliding doors open.

Rogue gazed out at the grass rushing by, across the stony, pebbly track. It was shiveringly dark, lit only by stars and the thin brow of the moon. Oddly enough, dawn seemed to be late, or at least hidden by the dark clouds in the east. She could barely see, only the quick flashes as they passed. "Oh mah Gawd, ah'm gonna die."

Belle could make the jump easily, she realized. And she had to admit, she'd really liked doing the flip. She squelched the impulse. No. She wouldn't risk becoming her.

Okay, so she escaped an assassin by doing this. Possibly worth it to break an ankle. And the train wasn't going that fast yet. Not terribly, terribly fast. Just enough to kill her.

Rogue ignored the thought and stepped back. Clutching the book, trying to remember what she'd been taught about trying to avoid breaking her neck in a fall, she jumped.

It wasn't as bad as she expected.

It was worse.

There was a beautiful moment of hanging in the air, of soaring through in free fall, and then her feet were hitting the ground, knees bent, which sent her tumbling forward, knees hitting hard. She rolled, her shoulder impacting at one point sending shockwaves throughout her whole body, and her face went straight into mud, left from the earlier rain.

"Ugh," she croaked, clutching the equally muddy red book to her chest. Her neck wasn't snapped. Her head was still on. Her back wasn't broken. But she had nothing to use for a tourniquet or a wipe for her face, and her right knee really hurt.

Yet the train station was still visible.

She knew better than to risk walking on the tracks. Limp and all, she started making her way back towards the train station, hoping it was closer than it looked. One step at a time, trying to keep the voices in her mind quiet, especially now that there was one more in their number, she headed back, relieved when Belle didn't jump off the train and start coming after her.

When she at long last staggered into the train station again, the same clerk who'd helped her earlier looked up, recognizing the bleeding girl as one he'd assisted earlier. Business had been slow that night. She waved slightly, and limping, drawing the attention of even the homeless folk lingering around, staggered up to the ticket booth. Thankfully, her money was still in her pockets.

"Hey," she said, waving her punched ticket. "Too late ta get a refund?"

He stared. "Um, yes?"

"Pity," she sighed. "Yah got any vending machines around here?"

"Yeah, uh, there's a pop one and a Gatorade one over there, and a candy bar one near the phone?" he said timidly, gesturing and staring at her with wide eyes.

"Thanks, sugah, yah're a peach," she said, managing a grin. She'd just been in a dagger fight. And now she was back where she started. But it had been kind of cool.

But now there was an assassin who'd be after her again as soon as she woke up. And if not, Mystique would send someone else. Maybe someone more dangerous. Because Belle's memories had told her what Irene's had not: Mystique was deadly and had mutants under her command. Only that superficial information, nothing more, was provided about Ms. Darkholme by her contact with the assassin, but it was enough to make Rogue want to hurry. Particularly since Irene would apparently be able to send people after her, since that was her best guess for why Belle was waiting for her.

Still… she had a destination now. Belle was scared of someone, she'd felt. Nothing with a specific memory attached, just a knowledge. Someone who could apparently protect her. She didn't have a face with the name. The name LeBeau was connected with it, but the only images which came with that was that of an elegant, cat-like older man with a mustache and a younger man with short hair and a thinner moustache and goatee who looked like him. The name she'd gained had some other connection, too, but whoever bore the name hadn't been called that by Belle, since the association was a weak one. She could just ask her psyche of Belle, but Rogue sensed that was a bad idea. Belle's voice was already at the fringe of her consciousness, trying to get out. She had to leave her in the back of her mind until 'Belladonna' was weaker. And she didn't know how to make her answer, either. Cody'd made Irene answer her question back home, but she really didn't think pitting his football-playing psyche against the more recent psyche of an assassin was a good idea.

But she had a name. And a location. If not a face.

Of course, there was no guarantee this person would help her. But the impression that came with it suggested he would.

If she liked the idea of living for a while longer, she'd have to find this person named Gambit. He was her best chance for any kind of help. The first she'd even heard a whisper of about anyone who could get her out of this sticky situation.

"Ah'll also need another ticket," she said to the young man, though she was impatient to go examine the vending machines. "Whatcha got in the way of Boston?"

"Boston?" he repeated, checking the computer within his booth. "Uh, ah can send y' ta Atlanta- y' can catch a train straight to Boston there."

"Atlanta," she repeated, nodding. "Sounds swell. Twenty again?"

"Thirty, actually."

She reached to cough it up, then remembered. "How long a wait?"

"An hour," he told her blankly, still staring at the blood on her shoulder and the streaks of mud on her face.

"Fahne," she said tiredly. She took the ticket he printed even as she handed over the money. She eyed a piece of mud-covered hair. "Which direction's the ladies' room?"

Wordlessly, he pointed. Then, working up his courage, he asked, "Yah want me to call an ambulance?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "My gosh, whatever for?" she said earnestly. He looked at her, somewhat scared.

She eyed her shoulder. The blood flow seemed to be slowing, and she didn't feel too terrible, so it probably didn't hit an artery. But boy, did it hurt.

She looked at her scrapes and scratches sullenly, cast yet another careful glance at her throbbing shoulder, and then looked up.

"Happen to have any Band-Aids in the house?"


	4. Boston

(This has been re-updated with a finished author's note)

A/N: Hey, I meant to update on the weekend, but never got to write, being incredibly busy with evil things and fun things and all sorts of other nonsense, but I have had no time to write- I haven't had an hour to myself in the past week. But play practice got canceled, and it being Mardi Gras (Remy is enjoying himself wherever fictional characters go when they're not being toyed with by authors), I had to write, even if I didn't get up to the point I intended. It may be confusing, and long, and exposition-ish, but it's leading up to good times, anyway, and writing the very end was much, much fun, even if you all don't think so. But I hope you do. And I've gotta do this quick, cause- oops, I'm up past my bedtime, whatdoyouknow.

abril14- You reviewed on Ch.2, and I deeply apologize for not being able to thank you, cause your review showed up just after I updated. I hope you didn't feel unloved, if you're reading this, so I'll send my cat to give you a hug. And on second thought, some people being allergic to cats, I'll send my cousin's dog to give you a hug- and no, wait, that's no good, so I'll send my brother's itty bitty lizard Krypto- and no, I have it! I can just send Gambit to give you a hug, which should definitely make up for my lack of response. So thanks for reviewing, and you're the first to express real sympathy for Cody. Poor Cody. He's such a useful plot device as well as a character, and causing him pain advances the plot. But poor thing. My cat can give him a hug.

ishandahalf- and I can no longer claim the title of Flash, being so very late in writing, and excuses won't make the boat go faster. I forgot to feed the bunny crack. I hang my head in shame. Love the Batman reference! I actually wrote the third chapter after being down the street in the studio of our neighbor Mr. Nolan, who draws for the Batman comics on all these ones, so it was very cool and he draws scarily well and it was inspiring so then I went home and wrote that. Yup, Lady Luck's playing games with Rogue, but she always does that with her favorites. Glad you liked it- I love writing fight scenes, they're fun. Rogue's gotta feel sorry for her- she's got her memories, and everybody, even the wickedest of foes, are the hero in the movie in their head, even sociopathic doll-stabbers. And I really appreciate your comments about how I'm writing Rogue, since that's the way I've always seen her, 'cause even though she is, in a way, fragile, she bends, she doesn't break, 'least from what I've always seen, and she seems to have a high threshold for pain- which I definitely pushed in the last chapter. And probably will again. Yeah, I doubt I'd have made it down the block in her shoes. Definitely would be into the waterworks. Anyway, love getting your reviews and glad you're enjoying it!

enchanted light- Thanks mucho for your reviews and for reading.

Jean Deux- I'm really glad you liked the scene at the end, I loved writing it, and I love wittiness. Loved your comment about tough women, though Rogue didn't really have much of a choice about getting bloody, but she's exactly the sort of character who handles it and who, really, we need to see more in fiction of all kinds. I loved pitting Belle against her own moves because it made me think of those mirror-image fight scenes you see sometimes on TV or movies- where each move is perfectly parried, etc., and it never gets anywhere, but usually they're not trying to kill each other then. Oh, I'm glad you liked the football bit, cause I really liked that. Um, haven't said Belle's age, but she's the same as Remy- give/take a year, my decision on that's not completely final- and Remy's age you're going to have to wait to find out. He's older than Rogue, I'll give you that, though that's kind of a given to begin with. And Boston's right below. Thanks ever so much for your encouraging review, can't tell you how much it's appreciated.

saphire1284- Hey, I really appreciate your compliments. It's really nice to hear someone thinks my writing's good, and I love trying to get characters down, so thanks for telling me I seem to be succeeding. And I'm thrilled it kept you on the edge of your seat. I thrive on the unpredictable parts of life, so I always try to make my writing unpredictable without going into the zone of 'they just did that so nobody would guess it', which can be worse than predictability. And that probably made no sense, but that's okay.Again, thanks.

EmeraldKatsEye- I have a mental image of a shiny green card with Belladonna's face heavily scribbled over in black ink and Rogue and Remy's initials carved into it, but that's just me. What I think would be scary would be for someone to actually like Belle. And I guarantee there's someone out there, with a very twisted mind, who does. Maybe I'll write a theme song for the Belladonna hate club. Hmmm… Well, thanks very much for reviewing, particularly in such a fun way

Thanks again to all, and I hope you continue to read and like this chapter, the next should be up as soon as I have time to actually write it, which, again, should be soon.

Cold filled her to the very marrow of her bones. At the moment, she'd welcome hell, the flames preferable to the alternative. This place was undoubtedly worse.

She watched with horror the soft, sparkly flakes which had seemed so soft and inviting from the warmth of the train, where she'd wanted terribly just to dive straight out the window into the enveloping, cushiony piles. That lasted only until she'd gotten close enough to the window to feel the seeping chill soaking through, leading to her darting back and staying huddled away in the middle of the train. The cold, at least, had kept her awake. She'd slept the first half of the trip and was determined never to sleep again.

She didn't like having other people's nightmares.

Now, her ride over, being forced out, she was tempted to buy another ticket just to be allowed to stay on the train, rather than walk out of the doorway of the station into the dreary, unbelievable cold. Rogue had thought she could bear any cold, weather any storm. She'd left with confidence in that, if nothing else.

Well, damn it, she'd been wrong. How had she conveniently forgotten it snows in Boston? She'd never actually seen snow. Just pictures with kids jumping in it, out of school, and she'd stared at the screen, full of envy, or laughed at the poor saps trundling through incredibly bad visibility, bundled up to the tips of their red noses. For a few seconds, she'd convinced herself that with her long-sleeved shirt, she'd be fine. That lasted only until she noticed the lump of snow easily twice, thrice her size height-wise and many, many times her width that had been pushed out of the parking lot of the station. She shuddered and headed directly back into the station. This being not too late in the evening, not to mention in a very large city, the crowd here was relatively good.

Shivering still and clutching her arms tightly about herself and the book, Rogue's eyes narrowed as she scanned the crowd. After a moment or too, her gaze landed on a woman about her height, in a perfectly sized, green parka, with a matching hat that covered her ears, and a scarf to boot.

Rogue smiled and reached for her cash. "Excuse me," she asked, lips quivering still from the cold, "how much to buy yah coat?"

The woman backed up almost at once, her face betraying alarm. Her eyes went to Rogue's hair, and then eyed her warily. "You want what?"

"Look, how much? Fifty? Couple hundred? Ah'll pay whatever yah want," Rogue said impatiently, waving green in the woman's face.

Shocked, the woman could only give her another startled look. She pulled her suitcase closer. "Young lady, I don't know why you're out in this weather without a coat, and I don't want to know why you have so much cash on you, but I have no intention of selling my coat of my back."

"That a definite no, or are yah beginning to haggle?" Rogue demanded, somewhat in a state of disbelief. She put her hands on her hips and glared. "Ah'm not payin' more than a hundred or two for a coat. Even in this weather."

The woman turned and headed away, very quickly.

"Five hundred?" Rogue shouted desperately, watching the snuggly looking, form fitting green coat disappear rapidly into the distance. She looked around, desperately. She considered getting up and shouting who'd sell her a coat, but that would attract attention, and that was an overall bad. She considered running after the woman, brushing her hand, and simply taking the coat, but she didn't like the encouragement from a certain corner of her mind on that matter, and really, that would be the sort of thing the assassin lady would do, not her.

But considering the temperature, there was no way she could leave this station without a proper coat. Quickly, tucking her money away, she began to ask around, quietly as she could.

Within an hour, she was slinking around behind the folk reading magazines in a warm waiting area, debating how best to take the coats they were either sitting on or had draped over chairs behind them.

Just as she was about to reach out and snag a blue coat from a teenage boy which was far too large for her, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She leaped several feet in the air, arm already reaching forward to trap a hand that dared grab her in a lock which allowed free reign to hit them with her other.

A very unhappy looking girl stood behind her, with hair stringy and damp from the snow and eyes as brown as a sad cow's. She appeared, at first glance, to be quite large, but from the slenderness of her face and legs, it seemed only to be the puffiness of the coat, which was clearly layered. She wore a beret on her head at a jaunty angle, not fully covering her ears, which were red. The horror of the matter was the color of both the coat and hat.

A fervent, vibrantly screaming hot pink.

"You're looking for someone to sell you a coat?" the girl in the coat said in a rush of words, looking around for, apparently, a parental figure.

Rogue's head began to shake a quick, trembling no, even as she began to back away. She glanced around desperately for the blue coat, but he was leaving, with only an old man, a tired mother, and some small children with coats lying about. She stopped in her tracks.

Eagerly, at a remarkably fast speed, the girl continued, "I'll give you it for fifty, if you have it, and it cost a good three, four times that, so it's a real bargain. And it's new, I just got it for Christmas, and believe me when I tell you I haven't worn it much. It's terribly warm, and-"

"Yah wouldn't happen to have it in another color?" Rogue said distastefully.

The girl looked down at it. "What, the pink? Uh, no, clearly not, I'm not a department store. It's the size that bothers me, I look so unbelievably fat. I feel like a sow. You know, one of those big, female pigs that-"

"Yah're not realleh sellin' meh on it here," Rogue snapped, pulling out her money. "Fifty, and yah better throw in the… thing yah call a hat," she said, shuddering, and not from the cold.

It was a bit later that she trundled out, coat zipped up as far as it would go, gloved hands stuffed deep into her pockets. The beret was pulled tightly down over her ears, and to her advantage, it covered up her white streak. To her disadvantage, the beret was most certainly not designed to be worn like that. Ever. At least her hiking boots were waterproof. In the coat, she felt, if not warm, at least mildly insulated from the streaming cold. Had she only known, this was truly only a very light snow, even though the wind chill placed the temperature firmly below zero. She already had a distinct feeling she wasn't going to like Boston. Or anywhere near Boston. At all.

She didn't really have a clear idea where to go. She had the name of a bar where Belladonna knew this Gambit character was. Or had been, two days back. She had to find some place called Mulligan's, but that could be anywhere. Rogue wondered, absently, if Boston had a taxi service. Having taken only a few more steps outside, she just as quickly headed back in.

It didn't take her long to discover that everywhere, even the middle of nowhere, had taxi services. She had to smile a lot, stretching her face and causing her pain, at the older gentleman behind the counter, but she eventually obtained permission to use the phone, once she'd started rattling off a sob story. It was a quick matter to send for a cab.

It was quite a different matter to wait outside in the snow, hopping from foot to foot, for it to arrive. She jumped like a startled fawn when a snowflake landed on the back of her neck. Rogue, shuddering, drew her shoulders up to her ears.

After what seemed an infernally long wait, and after images of Irene coming to pick up her stone-cold body covered in ice flashed repeatedly through her suddenly active, vividly imaginative mind, a white taxi cab, with a bar on top showing pictures advertising what looked like a strip club, pulled up slowly in front of her. Its window wipers flicked back and forth madly.

Quickly, she got in, her hands, which she assumed had frozen to the leather, fumblingly handing the man money. A grizzled looking, hoary-headed man, he held up his hands to stop her. "You pay me when I get you there, girly, to make sure we get the cost right." He glanced over at the railroad station. "Someone forget to pick you up?"

She tried not to glare, but cast him a look anyways. "Frankly, that's mah own damn business."

Looking bemused, he checked the mirrors as he began to pull out. "Where to?"

"Mulligan's," she said with slow hesitation, trying to pry into her own recollection of Belle's memories without having to try to draw out her actual… psyche.

The man stopped cold, hands halting in their turning of the wheel. "No can do," he said, shaking his head.

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "If this is because ah'm just a kid, an' it's some kinda rough-and-tumble place, ah'll have yah know-"

"No, girly, you misunderstand me." He paused. "I'd never heard of it before in my life till the papers this morn-"

"What?" she demanded, jolting forward. "Whah was it in the papers? What happened?"

"It burned to the ground last night."

"Lousy timing," she muttered, adjusting the annoying beret so as to better cover her white strands of hair. "Anybody die?"

"Apparently not. But it's awful mysterious, the place going up just like that. Where you want me to take you now? I can recommend a few hotels, if you need one," he said, giving her a look of very little concern and an eagerness to get this over and done.

She drummed her fingers absently on the book, scenarios flashing through her head on why the place she was looking for would be razed to the ground. Couldn't be coincidence. "The crowd that frequents there, they the sort to be alarmed by a bit of fire or would they be right back out on the town?"

"You looking for someone specific?"

She flashed him a plastic smile, with the hint of a pout and downcast eyes. "Mah deadbeat dad's s'posed to be here abouts. Kinda crucial ah find him." Yeah, like she'd confide in a total stranger. Nobody would buy that.

Still, she must be improving at lying, since the cab driver scratched his stubbly salt-and-pepper beard and considered. "Boston's got more pubs than bars," he told her absently, letting the car run as they stayed put. "What I've heard, a tougher crowd ran about 'round there. There's a couple biker bars you could try, round the outskirts. It could take a long time, though. 'Course, I'm not advocating a young girl go walkin' in-"

"Ah've got the cash," Rogue told him flatly, holding up a bill of green.

"And we're off," the old fellow said readily, pulling out and heading in several directions.

She leaned back, fighting off a sigh, and instead slammed her fist into her open palm. Quietly, since they were gloved. This was going to be more difficult than she'd hoped, and who knew how long till that assassin was back on her trail.

Rogue really hoped this Gambit guy was still in Boston. She needed someone- and it killed her to admit that- capable of keeping an assassin off her back. And he was the only lead she had. If he was gone… well, then she'd face Belle again, and she doubted she'd have another opportunity to drain her, knowing firsthand what the woman was capable of.

Their first stop was a place called the Silversmith. It was dark, drab, even cloaked in pure white snow, and looked less than promising. The cab driver had a look in his eye which suggested he was out of their first sign of trouble, with or without the money, and he showed no real qualm at letting her walk in.

As she stepped out of the cab, she paused, for the first time remembering the pink coat. Shuddering, she decided she'd far rather be warm than dignified, and headed in anyways, head high. On second thought, she took off the beret and stuffed it in her pocket, impossibly large, into which she'd already half-crammed the book.

Rogue, shaking her head and hair, walked in with a warning glint in her eye and something of a swagger she didn't even realize she carried, visible even with the stupid pink coat. She drew more attention than she'd expected, the men playing pool pausing to snicker at her. The folk at the bar were too drunk to care, and those at tables were absorbed in their companions. She flickered her gaze across the faces, nothing triggering in her memory except the grungy folk from some movies Cody had seen once upon a time. Without pause, she headed towards the bartender.

He paid no mind to her, continuing to chat with a buxom blonde on the other side of the bar.

She slapped the bar, no expression of annoyance registering on her face, but it was enough to make him turn. He took one look at her and headed over immediately.

"ID?" he inquired.

"No thanks," Rogue said, the slightest hint of a menacing smile in the corner of her lip. "Ah'm lookin' for someone."

"You found someone," he told her, smirking at his cleverness.

"Ah don't think so," she said lightly, matching it with a cutting glance. "Someone named Gambit been through here?"

He shook his head. "Nope, don't-"

"Might've gone by LeBeau," Rogue said edgily, tapping her foot.

The guy's face suddenly dropped into a frown. "Haven't seen him. But people have been asking about him."

"Realleh. What kinda people we talkin' 'bout?"

He gave her a look. "Women. And their husbands."

She cast him a disgusted glance.

"And some folk he apparently owed money to," the guy added, fingering his lip. "Interesting, how my memory's slipping-"

She held up a twenty, annoyed at how quickly she was burning through money. "Give meh somethin' useful or ah'll lose interest awful quick, shortie."

Being not particularly tall, he immediately took offence, but the bored look she was wearing suggested his opportunity was slipping through his fingers. "He started a card game here about a week back with some of the regulars. Hung around for a few nights, left with a different girl each time. Won some cash, but not what he was looking for."

"Yeah?" she said, dangling the twenty casually in front of her eyes.

"Information. He's looking for someone." The guy waited, eyes following the bill.

"Who?"

"Beats me."

Reluctantly, she dragged out a ten. He eyed it contemptuously, but shrugged. "I really don't know. But this fellow left, stopped hanging around, after some complaints about missing wallets, and no one's seen him around here since."

Rogue tilted her head at the bartender. "'Bout those folks askin' for him…"

He eyed her pointedly. She shrugged, beginning to pocket the bill.

"Hey!"

She paused, dark green eyes fixed on his. Impatiently, he held out his hand, and slowly, she glanced down at the money and up again. "Ah'm still waitin' for somethin' useful, sugah. Yah've only told me a fat load of nothin' so far."

He looked at her evenly, then held out his palm. She gave him the ten, disdain dancing in her eyes.

"You'll have to do better than that," he said, scoffing.

"Fifty if yah can tell meh where he is," she said, voice mild, as she waited. "Twenty for whose after him."

He brushed back his drooping, straight blond hair. "Couple girls came in asking for him. A big guy wanted to know where he'd gone, looked pretty vicious- I'd say your friend messed around with the wrong fellow's wife."

"Not a tall woman with white blonde hair?" Rogue said hopefully, relatively sure it wasn't possible Belladonna had gotten here first but not perfectly sure.

"Blondes, sure, but I wouldn't know for certain –I'm not here every night. Don't think so," he said with a shrug. He eyed her. "So why you want this bloke so bad? He get you knocked up or something?"

Rogue could not refrain from bursting into incredulous laughter, nearly doubling over in one quick outburst. Immediately, she regained her composure and straightened. "No," she replied, straight-faced. She handed him the twenty. "Thanks for serving as a complete waste of mah time, ah'll be sure to remember yah helpfulness."

"I've heard this LeBeau's been frequenting Hoagie's," he said smoothly, with a smile, as he pocketed the money quickly. "The past couple of nights. One of the regular-"

She smiled and leaned forward confidentially on the bar. "Nice try," Rogue said in a hushed tone, spilling a drink left onto the bar straight onto the bartender. "Some helpful advice- don't lie to people askin' yah questions. Not everybody's as nice as meh." She walked out, annoyed.

Cursing, he called after her.

She ignored him, stalking out.

Had she not, she might have learned of the Australian fellow with a penchant for flicking his lighter who'd stopped to ask about LeBeau just the night before.

'"""""""""""""""""

She had to deck a woman at her next stop, who seemed quite insistent on not telling her anything, and in fact, thought it might be fun to rough up the silly little girl in the pink coat who'd tried to walk in the door. It barely staggered the woman, which surprised her, since it had always been effective against her classmates.

The hulking woman rubbed her cheekbone, and, actually snarling, grabbed the front of Rogue's coat. To her alarm, she felt her feet lift ever so slightly off the ground, even as her own coat choked her. Quickly, before the woman could draw back her other hand, Rogue dropped her chin enough to just slightly brush against the woman's fingers. Lurching, the woman- her name was Ida and she'd been paid that very afternoon to get rid of anyone asking questions about a thief, though he hadn't meant pretty girls, Rogue suddenly knew- pulled back, allowing Rogue to tumble back into the light layering of snow in the parking lot.

Her shoulder, throbbing constantly, wrenched somewhat as she fell, but she jumped to her feet and delivered a quick roundhouse kick to the stunned woman, turning that into an opportunity to lunge forward and jab at her eyes. Yowling, Ida fell back.

"Where's Gambit?" Rogue demanded, not noticing the wide-eyed taxi cab driver leaning out his window to watch from where he was parked.

A thin, platinum blond woman, who, in reality, was not that much older than Rogue, held up her hands. She and the twenty-something, red-haired, green-eyed woman beside her, outside for a smoke, were watching the exchange with interest. Both were in short leather skirts, low-cut animal print shirts which seemed to be made out of spandex, and fishnet tights, though the redhead wore an envy-worthy aviator's jacket. Rogue eyed them with almost more wariness than she had given the large 'bouncer', Ida. "Easy, easy, kid, Gambit's not here."

Ignoring the howling woman by her feet, Rogue looked at the women nervously, uneasy. "Yeah, but d'yah know where he's gone?"

The redhead, green eyes sharp, adjusted her jacket, leather but appearing quite plush, of a worn sort of brown that seemed very classy. Rogue was somewhat dismayed by her own coat, horrendous in comparison. "What's a nice girl like you want with a fellow like him?"

She shifted uneasily, wondering how the women were standing the weather. And that last statement was definitely making her question her own judgment in looking for this Gambit. "That's mah own concern," Rogue said icily. "An' who says ah'm nice?"

It was, again, the redhead who spoke. "The pink speaks for yah, honey."

Rogue flushed. Irene had always told her she was more like vinegar than honey. "This is _not_ mah coat an' yah're trying my patience!" The last emerged in a dangerous sort of tone, her eyes narrowing at them. Her gaze, purposely, flicked to Ida, still clutching her eyes. She felt somewhat guilty, but her shoulder felt like it might be bleeding again, so she didn't really care.

The blond snickered, taking another drag of her cigarette. "That sound like a threat to you, Nat?"

The woman, Nat, raised a red eyebrow. "The coat ruins the effect, lil' Southern belle. You need to work on your death glare a bit more."

Annoyed by the word 'belle' and, particularly, insulted by the comment about her death glare, which was quite good, Rogue stared at them furiously. But her curiosity was getting the better of her, and before she knew what was coming out of her mouth, she had blurted out, "Aren't y'all cold?"

Somewhat amused, the two turned to each other and let out tinkling bells of laughter. At last, the redhead replied, bemused, "Sure thing. But it's hot enough inside that a couple minutes out here can only do us good."

"Ahhh," said Rogue, somewhat unhappily, with a nervous glance at the neon side.

"This really isn't a place a little lady like you belongs," the blonde said easily, nodding at the beret. She winked. "'S meant for us tramps."

Again, Rogue's mouth, not used to prolonged conversations, got the better of her. "Ah've been told the only difference 'tween a lady and a tramp's 'bout three drinks, so there's no need ta be so condescending."

The redhead laughed. "Now where did that scoundrel pick up a girl like you?" she wondered.

"No one picks meh up," Rogue said tightly. "An' y' know what, never yah mind, 'cause ah'll just be-"

"Hold onto your horsefeathers," the redhead ordered, and Rogue gaped, the expression strange coming from her. "The young man you're after's been stopping by because he's searching for a bloke who I'm quite familiar with and who left some stuff behind he's bound to come back for in a bit. Needs his help for something. He'd been renting a room in the back of this bar called Mulligan's, but there was something of an incident there last night. All I can tell you is he's been hanging around the Frost Academy. Casing the place. There's a restaurant, the Anchor Tavern, where he's been eating breakfast every morning, right in sight of the hill it's on. There's almost no reason he shouldn't be there."

Rogue, who'd turned to leave, nearly fell over in shock. "Why tell me that?" she said challengingly, suspicious of anything coming so easy.

The woman shrugged. "I rather fancy your coat. How's a trade?"

Her friend, the blonde, somewhat jumped at this.

"That warm?" Rogue demanded of the coat, startled at the suggestion and not completely opposed to it.

Expertly, the woman shrugged out of it and tossed it to her. There were airplanes on the inside, which, while not fleece, seemed quite cozy. The leather was thick, and, although clearly old, it was in remarkably good condition, not at all the sort of thing one would pick up at the Salvation Army. There were metal buttons at the top and bottom, and a zipper running down the middle. A warmer material, cotton mixed with some other fabric to make it somewhat stretchy, lined the very end of the wrist and the bottom of the coat. Rogue looked at it suspiciously. She really wanted the coat, which seemed to imply to her she shouldn't take it. And she was dying to ditch the pink coat in favor of something else, though warmth was precious. Plus, and this argument she allowed to sell herself on, she could move far more easily in this lighter coat, while refraining from freezing her ass off. "Deal," she said, sounding far more begrudging than she was, "but ah'm keeping the damned beret."

Nat caught the coat Rogue tossed to her easily and watched as the girl, looking back nervously, got in the car. She waved, watching the car head off. Then, in a quick turn, she knocked Ida the rest of the way out with a quick kick.

"Why did you go and do that?" her companion demanded as Nat lifted the top of her watch, revealing a minute dial pad. "You told me He's extremely fond of that coat. That's half the reason we planned it this way."

"You never read the dossiers as thoroughly as you should," the redhead said, dropping the Boston accent entirely. "Fury won't be that pleased with-"

"You," the other interjected. "Gambit'll know you shouldn't have known his plans, Natasha. You've just blown our cover."

"I'm bored with it anyways," she said dismissively, her entire manner shifted. She cast an amused look at the coat. "Someone else can handle you-know-who. I want a new assignment."

"Don't listen to me, I'm just a highly trained government agent," the other said, rubbing her forehead. "You- you always insist on being on such a higher level than the rest of us. Why on earth would you actually tell that girl where Gambit is?"

"That was Mystique's brat," Natasha said with a sigh, dialing a number into her watch.

"Mystique has a- funny, doesn't look anything like her."

"Adopted, twit."

"I'm still not seeing why you'd send her after LeBeau. He's a nothing in this game. All we had to do was bring her in, get her on-"

"Why do I do anything, Foster? Because it interests me. This interests me. He no longer does. Neither, for that matter, does America," she added loudly on behalf of the man now listening in quietly on the other end of the watch.

"I'm sure Steve will appreciate that comment," said a low male voice, turning her words around to mean the man instead of the place.

"Give me something else to do, Nick," she ordered, speaking into the watch. "Or I'll find something better to occupy my time with."

"Feel like being the most dangerous woman in Europe again?" the voice emerged smoothly

"Lovely," she said.

"What is it you've gone and done, Widow?"

She smiled. "I fancy I've knocked over a domino."

'""""""""""""

It was with a sharp, sickening thud that the young man hit the snow-covered pavement a good many feet from where he had last been standing. His head felt as if it had been split wide open, and he got up with a groan, touching his hand to his bleeding head. His gaze was blurry, but he glared at the Victorian style white building for as long as he could manage, and swore at it venomously in French. His glare was actually directly intercepted by one of the many lovely statues that decorated the gardens around the large house.

Unfortunately for the statue.

He didn't even really notice his stare had charged it until a piece of it exploded loudly.

"Dude!" said a voice behind him, somewhere between shock and bemusement. "Ouch! The lower torso is definitely out of the picture! God! You shattered his… fig leaf!"

"I don' t'ink I want to know who you are," he said with a groan, finding himself very suddenly sitting down. He flopped back and stared at the dark sky.

"I mean, you're kind of lucky in comparison. You fly a couple hundred yards, he gets turned into marble and…man!"

He sat up, suddenly, very straight. Or tried to, but really didn't quite manage it. But that was the overall effect of the expression, anyhow. "I blew up… I blew up de… de fig leaf of some real homme? De… de statues are – "

"Either you're awful gullible, or you hit your head mighty hard," said the voice of a boy, and suddenly a face to go with it swarmed into his vision. A boyish face, with an ever present smirk, and blue eyes accompanied by darkish blond hair formed a vague image. "You think they've got Medusa up i- Weeelll, that is a _wicked_ cut. Man. Which girl were you so desperate to see that you ran past all the security systems? 'Cause, yeah, they're hot, but not worth dying for. 'Cept maybe the one who's Italian or something and carries a lot of luggage."

Touching his head, he found there was a great deal of blood there. He looked over, finding himself right next to the sign displaying the words Miss Emma Frost's Academy for Gifted Young Ladies. "Dose," he said furiously, reaching reluctantly and with extreme hesitation for a handful of snow, which he placed against the cut as quickly as he could, drawing his hand back with a shudder, "were no ladies by any definition."

"Uh, in the definition of being young females of a cert- Whoa. What's with your eyes?"

"Dey're red. I'm a mutant. Fear me," he said dryly, trying to stand up.

"Mutual," the boy said with a nod. "And if you haven't figured out by now that the girls are too, I pity you. Now, about the redhead, what can she do? 'Cause I've never heard her talk, and-"

Tilting his head with some realization, Gambit looked at the boy. "Dose children's toys y're carrying?"

He glanced at the brightly colored listening devices and kid's binoculars in his hands and shrugged.

"Yes. So?"

"No comment," he said, staggering. "Know anyplace t' die hereabouts?"

"There's the cemetery, and the morgue, and-"

"An' dat's why folk say our generation be too literal. Y' going ta go away now, non?"

"I'm kind of thinking you're going to go into shock and, y'know, die or something, so probably not the best idea to leave you alone. In, y'know, the snow. Are you French?" he said amiably.

"Y're wearing shorts?" Gambit said, horrified and somewhat fascinated as he noticed the boy was dressed as if for summer.

"Yeah. I like ice. I'm Bobby."

He nodded. "'Course y'are. Y'look like y'should be a Bobby."

"Thanks. I think. And you?"

"I'm tired."

"Actually, I think you're dying. Or concussed. Or whatever. What is your name?"

"Not dat it matters, if I'm dead, but it's Gambit."

"That's a code name. All the girls have code names, too," the boy complained, grabbing the staggering young man's arm and turning him in the direction back towards town, down the hill. "I should get one. 'Cept not the Fridge, cause that sounds dumb, and a football player already took it."

"Try Icecube," Gambit suggested, sagging. His head was spinning, and a song he wanted to forget was repeating itself in his head. He was relatively sure he was dreaming, but then again, he would never, ever have a dream in anyway associated with a young man named Bobby.

"That hurts, deeply. I am stung. Why am I helping you?"

"Don' ask me."

"'Cause I'm a good person?"

"Dat'd do it. Good die young, should warn you."

"Yeah, and the wicked die alone. I'm really alarmed. What's France like? Girls there bathe topless?"

"I'm from N'Awlins."

"What's that?"

"N'Awlins!"

"Oh, New Or-leans. Hey, why the hell aren't you there? It's Mardi Gras, you dope! Girls take their shirts off and dance in the street."

"Y'have a very one track mind, y'know."

"Yeah, well, you need medical assistance. Think the nurses'll figure I'm a hero?"

"Non. No hospitals. Just a drink."

"Yeah, alcohol cleanses wounds! We can pour some on your head!"

"Mon Dieu, y'd waste a drink on a little scratch like- " He tumbled downwards.

This was **not** the beginning of a beautiful friendship.


	5. No Such Thing

Disclaimer: Not mine. Neither, for that matter, is Queen's song Bicycle Race. Which probably makes people wondering what I'm on about and skip my rambling author's note to read the chapter.

A/N: Yes, a long chapter. And it's taken me most of the day (I typically write straight, no breaks), but that's okay, I had nothing better to do. See, I write quickly, I just don't have any time- whatsoever, I'm gone like seventeen hours from morning to night on school days and my weekends are insane and our teachers give us insane amounts of homework. But, this was pretty quick. I'm pleased. And, an apology to those of whom whose very nice reviews I didn't finish addressing last author's note. That chapter was re-updated w/ a finished author's note, so that's there. I was in a rush, sorry, and I go from the first review on that chapter to the most recent, so some didn't get done. Very sorry. So, onward we press, and can I just say how much insane fun I had writing this chapter, and I rather hope you all like it, though I imagine you're all occupied yourselves for Valentine's Day. Sadly, I'm not, I'll just be at home, writing an essay for the devil herself. Anyway, if you're reading this, thanks for taking the time and please, pretty please w/ a cherry on top, review!

Anyway…. enchantedlight, thanks loads for reviewing, I really appreciate it when people continue to review each chapter 'cause then I know it's worth coming back for, and just a 'hi' means a lot

UncannyAsianGirl- I ran out of things to read during play practice and read your review like ten times (I print them all out, probably out of misguided vanity). But, wow, I was so flattered, particularly since you very obviously know what you're talking about, and you said such incredibly nice things about my writing, which mean a lot, since it's what I've wanted to do since first grade. I especially enjoyed hearing you found it unpredictable, since I really try for that- I hate predictability, especially in comic books, which are meant to grab you. It is SHIELD, not the Avengers, but most of them'll be around. And I laughed at your pun, anyhow. But you'll have to wait for Rogue to find out what Remy was looking for, and he's not going to be very big on sharing that. Bobby dropped two clues as to whose in attendance, if you find them, and Remy drops one in this chapter, plus then there's the clue of who could possibly hurl Remy several hundred feet away from the school, but you'll have to wait for further information, since they're going to try to leave Boston as soon as possible. And I was glad to see you caught everyone, 'cause yep, it was Steve Rogers being referenced, and, uh, there'd be a reason why Foster doesn't ring a bell. I was worried about that. See, I was planning on using Sue Storm but changed my mind last minute since I have a different plan for the FF, and then thought maybe the Wasp, but didn't want another Avenger, so I grabbed my twelve-year old brother, who I just had read the Ultimate Spider-Man graphic novels, and asked him if he could remember any of the names of some of the SHIELD agents Fury was bossing around in one of the issues. And he looks at me, and goes, 'Foster'. He wasn't sure, didn't know if guy or girl, but I ran with that, since she was basically unimportant anyways and was really more of a side character for Natasha to bounce things off of, and definitely back-up she didn't want. Pyro's not in this chapter, but I have plans for him involving Bobby, so you definitely called it on that. I've always thought Belle, as an assassin, should be somewhat scary, since it's kind of the job description, and a good villain ups stories in every way, and I'm really glad people besides me approve of that. And wow, I was blown back by your really flattering compliments about my characterization of Rogue. It's the way I've always seen her, and it makes me very happy that I seem to be getting her right! And was that a Monty Python reference, 'tis merely a flesh wound', from the Holy Grail? The black knight? If not, ignore that. Oh, and I had to put the bomber jacket in. I have a thing with bomber jackets, as I have one myself which I adore to pieces, particularly since it was my aunt's first. And wait'll you see whose it was. Thanks loads, also, for the sum-up of the comics. It's like in the days of yore I hear tell of when they could be gotten from a convenience story, I, unfortunately, rely solely on the library. Could you tell me, how'd she get her powers back after losing them in Xtreme X-Men Invasion? _Did_ she get them back? And why is Remy blind! And I missed Ultimate 53, only reading 52, 54, though I don't follow the series as much as I'd liked to, so was sort of confused as to how she goes from stealing Remy's powers- after he kidnapped her, to threatening Wolverine on his behalf. Though it was made a lot easier for him than usual to win him over, clearly. You're so lucky to have a nearby comic book shop. Though people think I'm crazy if I mention that, and think I'm the last person on earth to read them, since most people assume I'm very literary, just cause I read constantly. Give me the Star Wars books and fantasy and comic books any day over Robinson Crusoe. So, yeah, am insanely jealous you can spend loads of time there. Thanks so much for your kind review, hope you continue to like it.

ishandahalf- yes! the bunny got its crack this time! I have, upon several occasions, fallen out of my chair while reading something, since I tend to tilt it back, bad, deadly habit I picked up from my cousins which is going to get my head split open one of these days. My parents worry I get too invested into things I read and write, since a couple years back I burst into tears when they killed Chewbacca and then Anakin Solo off in the Star Wars books, and then again when Rowling killed off Sirius Black because it was so damn predictable- but then, ignore my psycho-babblings. Buffalo's weather has been nuts in past years. It'll be three degrees one week and sixty something the next. Though we really want it to stay cold, since then we get snow days, or cold days, or even one like Thursday's water day, when a water main broke and did something to schools in Buffalo and I got to stay in my cozy small town and go back to bed. The weather's evil and likes to torment us, and if I were one of the X-Men, I'd spend my days giving gifts to Storm and begging her to get us off of school. Somehow, it doesn't surprise me that you have an arch-nemesis, not that I mean that in a bad way. It makes me laugh, particularly since I have a strong mental image of the sort of girl who would actually choose to wear such a blindingly pink coat and that certainly reminds me of some people I know and loathe, who I would very much like to hit, like Rogue would, but then it's an all-girl's school, and that wouldn't go over well, so I just kill them with kindness and try to be polite and they really don't know what to do with me, except try to make my life miserable. Let's just say they make it very un-difficult to write characters like Belle. The bomber jacket seems so essentially roguish to me- the name's got to have meaning, like in the movie- I mean, Anna Paquin's a good actress, she just screams a lot, and she isn't really much of a rogue, per se. Yep, SHIELD's not gonna be very fun to deal with- and I realize I made that scene a bit more vague than it really needed to be. I was slightly overly subtle. They were there to get somebody else, basically. And yeah, there's more to the coat- not a tracking device, but they definitely insure she'll be tracked- see the end of this chapter- well, read the whole thing first, since that should clear that up, though not for Rogue, of course. Um, and yeah, that line about bringing 'her' in- I reread that, I was unclear. It was said to Natasha in the sense of 'why'd you just do that? I mean, she's Mystique's kid, why not just bring her in, etc.' Rogue wasn't who they were there to bring in, but yeah, I phrased that awkwardly. And Natasha sent her after Remy just 'cause it amuses her to do so, since I've gotten the vibe from her on past occasions she's the sort to do something like that once in a while. I really liked the phrase, 'running for their lives… in a tag-team scenario' since that was exactly the image I had in mind when coming up with this idea, though romance is going to be kind of… uh, slow-blooming. They meet this chapter- I can't tell you how much fun I had writing that, so I hope you like it. Bar scenes rule! Yeah, lots of characters- Frost and Pyro are going to be huge pains in the neck, though Bobby'll kind of come and go, like most of the X-Men will, 'cepting Rogue and Remy. I have a very vague plan from which I'll probably deviate, since I know myself and that's what I do. Remy and Bobby don't clash as much as you'd expect in this chapter- gosh, not as much as **I** expected- but believe me, throwing those two together- which I really think is not done enough- was very amusing for me, so I hope it amuses you. And again, thanks so much for your compliments, and I hope I don't give you a heart attack, cause then I'd probably get sued by your insurance company post-mortem, not to mention losing your intensely amusing reviews.

fairy of hey, thanks for your review! And sent direct to me! Very nice of you. I'd have answered it directly, but I'm really iffy on the using e-mail thing, being very new to the Internet and afraid I'll blow something up, since I've done that before with electronic devices. A blender, a tape player, and my cousins exploded their TV and crashed the computer system at their father's work, so it kind of runs on that side of the family. But, thanks, encouragement is appreciated!

So, thanks everyone for reading, and yeah, I'm rambling, but it's Sunday, and it's late, and the sooner I stop the sooner I'm a step closer to school tomorrow, so, bye, all, and remember, review! Even if you're really busy and only have time for one word! Pretty please! Whether you love it, despise me, or think it's okey-dokey, lemme know!

And since I wrote this straight, going back to add any change of language, here's hoping there's no spot where I meant to add French and didn't or accidently drop one of their accents cause I forget whose line I'm typing. If so, please forgive me and ignore it. Use your imaginations.

'""""""""""""""""""'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

There was no such thing as love at first sight. Infatuation, perhaps, but not love. Remy LeBeau was very familiar with infatuation, and this wasn't it, not by a long shot, nor even the beginning of it. But still, when he saw her, he stopped hoping he was dreaming. He didn't even really know why.

The door had no annoying bell, so when the boy named Bobby practically dragged him inside the nearest public building, a restaurant and bar, in order to call an ambulance, despite his protests, they drew minimal attention from those seated at tables and stools. At least, as minimal attention as a very clearly underage boy supporting a staggering young man could gather when walking into the place in the early hours of the morning.

Bobby started to call out, cupping hand over his mouth to holler to the bartender, but Remy, very unsubtly, clipped his chin with an elbow quickly to the jaw.

"Ow! Hey, is there a more thankless person on the face of the plan-" Bobby complained loudly, then cut off.

There was a very clear reason why their entrance had gone unnoticed.

Slowly, his vision no longer foggy, although the weeping wound in his head was certainly still open, Remy turned to follow the looks of most of the establishment, and the familiar inflections of the deep South.

There was a girl in a bomber jacket, with a bright pink beret pulled low over her hair and eyes, facing down a burly, tall man, right near the jukebox, and she seemed to be sorely trying his limited patience. Or rather, he had tried hers.

"Over mah dead body are yah playin' that song again," she said tightly, hands on hips. "Ah've had to hear it for one hour too many, and believe meh, it's already scarred meh for life by imprintin' itself on mah mind. Ah don't care what else yah play. It can be about bunnies and lollipops for all ah give a damn, yah are not playin' the bicycle song again."

The two looked at each other, shrugged, and sat down. Bobby handed Gambit napkins, which he promptly placed against his head, tilting back in his chair with a careless look over at the argument taking place, only vaguely curious at the prospect of another Southerner drifting about.

"So, why can't I just call you an ambulance and fulfill my good deed for the day?" Bobby asked.

Gambit went for the simple answer and gestured absently at his eyes.

The boy crinkled his forehead. "Tell them they're contacts."

"An' when dey ask me t' take 'em out ta examine de vision fo' signs of concussion?" he demanded, gesturing to a waitress even as he pressed a few more napkins against his forehead, as the warm liquid was already seeping through.

"Yeah. That is of the bad."

"Bourbon, chere," he said to the waitress as she walked up to him, eyeing his injury. "Make it quick."

She pursed her lips at him and clucked. "Sorry, handsome, no can do. You've run up a bit too high a tab. When you show you can pay it off…."

He glared at her, even as his companion fought off chuckles. "Water, den," he said woozily. "Fo' de head, non?"

There was a sudden clash as the girl grabbed a tray of drinks from a passing waitress and smashed it into the face of the man speaking to her belligerently, who was now holding and twirling her pink beret.

Everyone froze, except Remy, who didn't bother to look over again, so adamantly was he insisting on the water being free, and Bobby, who began to clap enthusiastically.

"I've never seen a bar fight," he happily told the young man across from him, handing him yet more napkins to replace the sopping one. "How much pleasanter there's a girl involved."

"Dey'll have some kind of security here in a couple minutes," Gambit said dismissively, eyeing the wound in his reflection on the silver napkin dispenser and wondering if it would leave a scar. "Not dat it matters," he added gloomily to himself. "I be dead before it heals."

"What's that, now?" Bobby asked absently, wincing as the girl got back-handed across the face. "You say something about the cops being called?"

He looked up, red eyes burning. "The police? Merde. I'm not t'inkin straight."

Bobby's drew his gaze slowly away, from where one of the man's friends was now attempting to pull the girl away. "You saying we have to book?"

"Non. I'm sayin' I have t' book, an' dat yo're advised to go elsewhere b'fore y' parents find out y' spending a school day in a bar after gettin' arrested fo' bein' on de scene," he said flatly, dropping the napkins as he tried to stand straight, succeeding only in shoving the chair away. Something, a bottle, whistled toward him, and he very narrowly dropped, then watched it hit the wall behind him. Venemously, he exclaimed, "What kind of an empty headed femme goes startin' a fight wit'-"

"Gambit?" Bobby questioned, afraid he was drifting off or becoming unresponsive, whatever happens to people when concussed.

He'd stopped, and was staring over at the fight.

The girl was backed into the corner by the large, bald man, who seemed to have forgotten all his lessons in chivalry when pieces of glass were embedded in his face. Whatever he'd said to her to anger her, it clearly hadn't gone over well. She didn't look overly worried or nervous, but merely eyed them nonchalantly, despite the fact that she looked somewhat worse for the wear. "Watch yah mouth, ugly," she said sharply, but in light tones. "An' don't forget a bitch's bark's got nothin' on her bite. 'Course, yah'd know all about that, yah mamma bein' what she was-" She ducked, hair swishing as his fist painfully cracked into the wall behind her. He yowled and staggered back. She grinned, pulling her glove off and shoving it into the pocket of her bomber jacket. "That's mah cue, sugah," she told him and dived for his throat.

She looked like she was having fun, and that interested him. Her eyes, their color indecipherable from the distance but certainly dark rather than light, were blazing, presumably with fury, but that seemed contrary to the casual words spouting from her mouth. Her lips, in turn, seemed to have been split, making them stand out brilliantly red against her pale face, flushed now with remarkably bright color in the cheeks. Her hair was swinging about her face, somewhat choppy and terribly mussed, the longest strands falling down her neck, the shortest stopping shy of her mouth, and they all curled in ever so slightly towards her face. Her face was slightly too round to be truly called heart-shaped, too angular at the sides and stubborn at the jaw to be called round. What was most interesting was the shade of her hair, which was mainly a light auburn, tinted considerably more light brown than red, yet strikingly, in the very front, the shorter hair proved to be a brilliant white.

Bobby followed his gaze, just as she knocked the man back against a table as she rammed into his chest with all her weight, and grinned. "Wow, right?"

Gambit glanced down at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Not da prettiest fille I've seen," he said, shaking his head. "Not by a longshot."

"Then what's with the open mouth?"

He jabbed a finger in the direction of his cut.

"Lousy excuse, man. How often you see a girl fight like that?"

"Lot more often den you'd expect." He shook his head, his darkish brown hair shaking with it in waves. He turned, trenchcoat shifting with him, pleased that he didn't stagger. Too much.

"What, we're gonna leave her to get arrested?" Bobby asked, horrified.

Gambit stared at him, walked over and opened the door. Bobby sighed, but the young man only leaned out, listening with experienced ears to the hints of a siren, then stormed back in, face darkly annoyed. "I hate playin' de hero," he griped, then headed over to where a few of the man's friends, drunk already in the early hours of the morning- never a good sign of great character- were grabbing her arms and yanking her of the large man, where she'd been trying to strike him with her bare hand. She struggled, expression seriously aggravated.

Bobby, delighted, followed at his heels. "You're not going to fall over, are you?" he asked Gambit in a stage whisper as they approached the group quickly.

The young man glared at him, whipping a pair of sunglasses out of his trenchcoat pocket and placing them firmly on. In a quick swipe, he pushed some of his hair down to cover the gash. "Non," he said swiftly.

He tapped the large fellow, who looked apt to strike the kicking girl, on the shoulder, giving him a disarmingly friendly smile. He gestured to the bar. "Say, mon ami, how's about y' forget de fille an' I buy all y' hommes a round o' drinks, non?"

The girl, on seeing him, stopped kicking. Her expression wasn't one of gratitude, or even one impressed with his looks, but a mixture of abject disappointment, exasperation, horror, and fury. "Aw, no," she groaned. "Not _you_."

This got a reaction from all around. Gambit tilted his glasses down slightly on the bridge of his nose in startlement, getting a better look at her. The men, who had seemed for a moment on the verge of accepting the offer for a reason they couldn't discern, suddenly got very hostile expressions. Bobby, eagerly, glanced between them. "You know her?" he demanded. "Damn it, introduce me!"

"She's your broad?" the burliest of the lot inquired menacingly.

"No!" the girl and Gambit declared at the same time, and Bobby's fell only a second behind, though less certain.

"Look, I'm sure we can talk dis out," Gambit said smoothly, gesturing charmingly with his hands. "Don't t'ink anyone wants de law involved-"

"Yes, I do!" the large man intoned, gesturing to his cut up face. "I'm making insurance claims-"

"Dude, you're gonna go before a court and say some five foot four chick kicked your ass?" Bobby snickered.

"Five-six," the girl countered hostily, looping her foot around the leg of one of the men holding her arm and taking him down to the floor through a quick application of pressure. She attempted to wrench her arm free of the other.

Bobby scoffed, even as Gambit closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and shook his head slightly. "No way."

"Five-five and three-fourths, happy?"

"That counting how much the boots add?" Bobby wondered, blue eyes twinkling as he watched the girl kick the man hard in the family jewels, with her thick hiking boots, no less.

"No," she said tightly, trying not to roll her eyes, not noticing the man she had knocked down getting up until he'd grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Hey!" Bobby protested, looking up indignantly. "We were having a conversation."

"Look," said Gambit, "why don't we just work dis out wit' a little bet?"

The burly fellow stared at the lanky young man, beginning to laugh as he decided the fellow had to be completely out of his mind. Cackling, and keeping an eye on the struggling girl, he demanded, "What kind of bet?"

He grinned, ignoring Bobby hanging onto the man's arm in an attempt to make him let go of the girl. Unfortunately, no one but Bobby noticed the man's arm beginning to ice up. "T'ousand grand," he said readily, watching the man's eyebrows go up as he took in that in consideration with his damp clothing, relatively ragged to begin with, and his clearly not new trenchcoat. "Jus' guess whether I'm left-handed or right."

The man, bored now, turned away. "You're probably both. How'm I s'pposed to know a thing like that?"

Gambit's grin broadened. Dieu, was this fellow dense. That line never worked. "I'll give y' a clue," he offered politely, even as he smashed his fist into the man's jaw, knocking him back against the jukebox. He crashed into the buttons, hitting start on the song he had already paid for.

Almost immediately, no music being on at the moment, the song began.

"Great goin', Swamp Rat," said the girl witheringly, dropping back to the ground as the man realized what Bobby was doing and began to scream. The other was still staggering about, and no one else in the bar seemed inclined to do anything but watch. Well, except the bartenders and waitresses, who were wisely ducked behind the bar and shouting at the folk on the other end of 911 to get their faster, since some kid had just frozen a guy's arm. And excepting the ones who were sober and merely eating, who ran out screaming 'mutant' as loudly at the top of their lungs.

'_I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike, I want to ride my bic-ycle, I want to ride it where I like…'_

"That's a good song," Bobby said, frowning as he turned his head towards her. "That's Queen."

"Try it for three hours straight sometime," she said, annoyed, then alarmed as sirens came closer. "Swell," she said, blowing her hair out of her face and running her hand slowly down her face in dismay before stuffing it back into the glove she drew out of her pocket. "Happy day."

She cast a glare at them and seemed about to make for the door, but Gambit grabbed her shoulders and turned her towards him. Her eyes, which he could see now where a dark, forest shade of green, with hints of light brown mingled in, widened in anger, and she brushed his hands off quickly. "Don't touch meh," she ordered, glowering.

Rogue pushed him away from her, surprised at how easily he staggered back, hands up in a smirking surrender. Great. All of this had been completely useless. The Gambit person and Belle's former lover or whatever he'd been were one and the same, there could be no doubt. The only name she had, the person she'd kind of been banking on to get the assassin of her back, was this idiot, albeit a good-looking one. How could she persuade this Gambit to help her, over a woman he'd loved, even one who'd tried to kill him? It wasn't like she had a great deal of money, nor was he the sort of person she'd expected in the back of her mind, someone from whom Belladonna would back away from in fear. It was all only wishful thinking, and boy, had she been wasting her time. She should have known better. She couldn't rely on anyone but herself.

_'-Jaws was never my scene and I don't like Star Wars-'_

The fellow on the jukebox made a move to get up, and she glared at him warningly. "Yah really have got to get yourself checked out," Rogue said, shaking her head. "No one without some kinda mental deficiency or another could play a song that repeats itself that many times straight. It ain't natural. It ain't human."

"I'll tell that to my brother next time he does that," Bobby said brightly.

There was a screeching of cars outside, which halted Rogue in her steps as she stormed towards the door.

"An' dat'll be de cops," Gambit said cheerily. "Which means dat's our signal to go. Popsicle, freeze de wall behind us."

He looked alarmed, blue eyes going wide. "I've never frozen anything that- did you just call me Popsicle? That is not cool!"

"Hey, Iceboy, do what he says," Rogue snapped, straining mentally to keep the voices in her head shut up.

**-look what you've gotten yourself int-**

**-these guys are mutants, too, huh? Intere-**

**- slit the bastard's throat-**

**-where am I? How'd some girl-**

He frowned at them both. "Could use a please-"

The door burst open. Unfortunately, it was not the police.

Gambit winced as Sabretooth, having to stoop to pass the doorway, entered, snarling. His eyes went immediately to Gambit, and then, uncertainly, he paused as he snarled Rogue. He made an unpleasant noise sounding vaguely like a laugh, and headed towards them both.

Rogue stared at the hulking, blond man covered in furs. She'd thought he was Ms. Darkholme's bodyguard, or assistant or something, since he'd once interrupted one of the woman's visits to bring her news, after which he had left very abruptly. He was terrifyingly bestial, but at the moment she felt more shock, annoyance, and relief it wasn't Belladonna than fear.

"Whoa," said Bobby, staring at the very large man. "Which one of you does he want?"

"Please," both said rapidly, surprisingly in unison.

Bobby turned and placed both hands on the wall behind him, looking very worried as he tried to concentrate. He wasn't about to admit this to them, but he really wasn't quite sure how he made it work yet.

"Him, too!" Rogue exclaimed to herself, frowning. As if an assassin wasn't enough.

The Cajun, next to her, cast a glance at her. "'S me dat he's after, chere."

She blinked. "Oh, good," she said lightly, then frowned as police gathered behind him, guns trained on him.

Gambit was sliding a deck of cards out of one of his pockets, quite subtly pulling a thin stack into his hand. "Hope y' good fo' somet'in ot'er den scrappin'," he said, looking at her askance.

"Don't go expecting any fireworks," she said flatly.

Painfully, he winced, one hand going automatically to the back of his neck. "Don't mention fireworks," he ordered.

"I'll mention whatever the hell I please. Hey, looks like they're going to open fire," she commented, backing up. Glancing over her shoulder, Rogue realized with dismay Bobby had only succeeded in making a small circle of ice on the wall, and was looking somewhat panicked..

"Oh, no," mumbled Gambit, several of the cards in his right hand lighting up in a sudden, sparkling, reddish purple light. "Dat'll only make de pussy angry."

Rogue's head jerked around, cheeks still flushed. "Ah hope to God y' kiddin'."

"Chere, I ain't e'en exaggeratin'. How's it comin', Popsicle?"

"It isn't!"

Gambit frowned. "He needs motivation. Bobby, dis fille'll kiss y' if y' can turn de wall ta ice," he sang out, his hand entering a flickering position.

Rogue fought back a laugh. "Sugah, yah ain't gotta clue what yah're talkin' about. But ah wouldn't advise yah offer that unless yah want him dead."

"Is that a threat?" Bobby wondered nervously.

Gambit considered, tilting his head. Rogue caught the faintest flicker of red as his glasses slid slightly. "I don' mind 'im dead," he offered with a shrug.

'_-I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman, all I want to do is bic-'_

A card shot from his hand and landed on the jukebox, which promptly exploded. Everyone in the restaurant who wasn't already under their table immediately dropped beneath it. Bobby jumped, stumbling, and the wall, very slowly, began to freeze.

"Good homme," Gambit said pleasantly, tossing another card casually at the feet of Sabretooth. It exploded, forcing the large man back several feet. It was questionable, at the moment, whether those in the restaurant were more afraid of the advancing beast of a man or of him. He was wearing a distinctly unpleasant smile, despite his tone.

Rogue glanced at the smoking jukebox. "Thank yah," she said, in a much nicer tone of voice.

"Y' not welcome. Dis is all y' fault, y'know."

"It's not me the big fellow wants," she retorted.

"LeBeau!" Sabretooth roared, ignoring completely the cops behind him.

"Go an' announce mon name t' de cops, why don't y'," he muttered, staggering slightly. His head was hurting.

"Give it to me!" he ordered.

"Give it to him, give it to him," Bobby shouted, trying frantically to make the ice spread. It wasn't working, it didn't work well under pressure. _He_ didn't work well under pressure.

"I di'nt get it!" he shouted. "An' dat means it can't be got! Can y' jus' leave me be now?"

His answer was to lunge forward. Gambit's card hit him in the chest even as he entered the air, sending him flying back into the crowd of cops outside the door.

"What's he want?" Rogue demanded, whacking his arm. Scowling, he rubbed it. It was sore enough there already without some crazy Mississippi river rat hitting him.

"How come y' recognized me?"

"None of your beeswax, Cajun."

The boy behind them listened in annoyance, and tried, "Guys?"

"It is too, it's about me!"

"Yeah? Well, whatever he wants involves me since ah'm standin' in his way?"

"No, y' standin' behind me!"

Bobby, loudly, called, "Hey, idiots!"

Neither paid him any heed.

"Y' could do someti'n to help," Gambit told her, gesturing in annoyance.

"Name something, wiseass. For all y'all know, maybe ah'm not even a mutant."

"I'm t'inkin y' are, what wit' de hair."

"Are yah insultin' mah hair!"

"Did I say anyt'in t' dat effect? I only-"

"Only two Southern dopes in the joint!" Bobby bellowed.

The two swiveled on him.

He gestured to the wall behind him, a large circle of which was frozen solid, as if he were Vanna White. "Ta-da?"

Gambit blinked. "Stand back," he ordered both of them, charging one of his cards with even more energy.

Rogue swiveled at the sound of a gunshot.

Sabretooth, tossing police aside, fell back. She felt a momentary burst of small relief, only to see him almost instantly steady himself and attempt to walk in again. Successive shots rang out, and with a groan, he toppled to the ground, motionless.

The wall of ice exploded as the card impacted against it, shards of wood and ice flying out and in the opposite direction from them.

"Ladies first," Bobby suggested, jerking his thumb at the hole in the wall. Without hesitation, Rogue flung herself through, landing quite miserably on blacktop covered in ice. Any part of her not already banged up was now hurting, and she was pretty sure her shoulder, which she'd spent time re-bandaging in the ladies' room inside a few hours back, was bleeding again. There were Dumpsters nearby, but they weren't in any alley, rather, there was a huge expanse of snowy, hilly land ahead of them. On it, dozens of children were running about, and one girl, very small, was staring at the hole in the wall and the girl who'd come flying out of it.

Bobby plummeted out, practically on top of her. "You didn't have to throw me through!" he hollered up unhappily, scraped a bit since he wasn't nearly as covered as she was. Rogue realized, with a start, that he was wearing shorts, but ignored it since he'd already proved himself King of the Cold. He scrambled up, easily, and offered her a hand up. Reluctantly, she gave him her gloved hand, finding it impossible to stand herself on the thin ice.

Gambit dove through a second later, rolling and coming up on his feet. After this graceful move, he proceeded to skid on the ice, narrowly catching himself. His hair blew in the wind, revealing a painful cut on his forehead, congealing with blood. "Fuir, fuir!" he hollered in French, before recognizing their blank looks and switching to, "Move, move!" as he ushered them forward at high speed.

"He got shot," Bobby protested, waving his hands. "And the cops aren't gonna shoot us… I think," he added hesitantly.

"He's getting better," Gambit said with a grim smile. "Trust me, 'e don't die. I've hit dis guy wit' a subway, an' he still ain't down fo' de count, so a couple pesky bullets not gonna do much. Dey didn't e'en get 'im in de head," he said, shaking his own.

"Hey!" said Bobby cheerfully, gesturing to some boys about the age of himself and Rogue, who were waving, somewhat shocked. "Those are my friends! Hey- um, we haven't been introduced, have we? I'm-"

"Bobby," Rogue supplied.

He looked at her, startled.

"Ah'm capable of listening," she told him flatly. "Rogue."

"Sorry?"

"Ah'm Rogue," she confirmed, as Gambit hustled them in the direction of the crowd of kids and parents, probably not the most heroic of things.

"Cool. Think you could wave at them for me?"

Her look was deadly and brokered no argument. "No."

Bobby nodded, then looked at Gambit. "If he's after you, can't we just ditch you now and we'll be fine? Not that I'm actually suggesting that, considering he'll kill you…."

"'E will not kill- ne'er mind, but he's probably got y' scent," he said rapidly, hustling them down the slight incline towards a hill where a bunch of kids were sledding. "'Least hers, since she was closer. What's wit dat, anyway? He recognized y', chere."

"It's Rogue," she said tightly. "An' he ate mah peanut butter an' jelly sandwich once."

"Dat's not funny."

"No, it wasn't, ah was about to eat it and he took it right out of mah hand and ah was too scared to tell and- oh mah Gawd, he's right behind us," she said with gritted teeth.

In fact, he wasn't, he'd just jumped out the hole, but he already was bounding through the snow with disgusting ease.

"Bobby, y' a local, where we go now?" Gambit demanded, dragging them both along, even as his trenchcoat dragged in the snow. Rogue wanted his hand off her arm, now, but she didn't have the time to get it off her.

"Uh…." His blue eyes went wide and looked around. He considered their surroundings. "The Iron Skillet!" he decreed at last, happily.

"Where?"

"Dat a bar?"

"'S a couple miles that way-"

"Down the hill and through the woods! Great, genius, that's realleh swell, let the beast kill us in the wilderness," Rogue suggested sardonically, eyes flashing.

"Trust me, it's perfect," Bobby insisted, gesturing. "And there's ice all the way there, that's my terrain-"

"And you're doin' such a swell job on it so far?"

Bobby, offended, slid his arm from Gambit's deadlock grip. "Fine, I'll slow him down, you two run-"

"What, are yah crazy?" Rogue wondered, Gambit still dragging her onward. "Cajun, tell him he's out of his mind!"

He looked back, bobbing sunglasses making his face unreadable. "If 'e wants to go all kamikaze, I'm not goin' t' be de homme who stops 'im. An' I don' t'ink de Sabretooth wants 'im dead, or 'as any interest in 'im at all, so worst 'e'll gets a bruise from bein' tossed aside, an' best we'll get is a second or two from whatever distraction he provides, an' no longer bein' bothered by de Boston Iceman, non?"

"Iceman!" Bobby cried triumphantly, that reaching his ears though he dismissed the gist of the conversation. He turned, waiting not-so-patiently for the Sabretooth to reach him.

Rogue gave him a disgusted look as he dragged her towards the hill. "Yah're a real piece of work, aren't yah?"

"I been told as much, by femmes a bit older an' prettier than you."

"Like Belle?"

He nearly came to a screeching halt, movement continuing only with effort, and his head whipped around. "Y' a spook?" he questioned angrily. "If so, get out o' mah head-"

"I don't read minds, but ah'd sure as hell like to know why yah leavin' yah friend there ta die-"

He did stop this time, his grip on her arm tightening as he yanked her closer. "Don' talk 'bout t'ings y' don' know, chere," he said grimly, lines tight about his face. "Fella chases y' a couple months, y' get to know what 'e's like. De boy'll be fine. Maybe better. I stop movin', I won't be. An' I know how 'e likes t' kill pretty filles. Wouldn't be an experience y'd enjoy, p'tite. So I recommend y' stick wit' me. Y' wanna go back, stand by de Icekid? Have fun. Don' 'spect me t' show at y' funeral." He didn't release her arm in the slightest, nor push her away, and he was unnervingly near.

Rogue, pulling back, glared at him, glanced back at Bobby, who stood patiently and somewhat cockily- flushed with his victory against the wall- waiting, and before she could even answer, Gambit was pulling her along again.

A group of three dark-haired kids, their mother nearby, were preparing their sleds to race down the hill, trying to find the exact right spot. Hair in his eyes, ignoring the dizziness from his head, he swooped his right arm out, the one not clutching Rogue's jacket-covered wrist, and with a grin and something of a bow, grabbed one of the sleds.

The kid let out a horrified wail. "Sorry!" Rogue shouted, trying to run better in the snow, her boots sinking far too much and feeling a need to keep up with the stupid swamp rat, so he couldn't show her up.

Even as she pulled even with him, he grabbed her around the waist. Before she could protest or instinctively slug him, he pulled her onto the sled, praying it was as simple as it looked, and waited. It couldn't even properly be called a sled, being really more a thin sheet of foam, decorated brightly and given handles and sold for a great deal of money.

The sled sat poised, not moving, and Rogue, her face turning even redder, shoved his hands off her and eased as far forward- and away from him- as she could- then pushed off against the snow, the sled slowly beginning to slide.

"Merde, dis isn't gonna work," he groaned from behind her, as the sled slowly edged forward, inch by inch, along the incline. "We're too hea-" He abruptly shut up as the sled, almost at once, picked up tremendous speed and began to rocket down the hill.

"Clutch the handles," she said grimly to him, her voice catching in her throat. The expanse of hill before them seemed tremendous, and they were suddenly jolted up and down, each bump of the hill felt. Not to mention the cold seeped through. It seemed so remarkably steep, and so blindingly white, as the snow reflected the glare of the sun. Her stomach fluttered. This wasn't like a roller coaster. They were jerking about, blindly, and any second now they could crash and her throat would snap. She couldn't remember being this scared of anything in her life. She did not want to die in the snow. She considered digging her feet in, to steer properly and slow them down, but slowing in any way was bad. Though crashing would probably be worse, since then they'd have to run the rest of the way down the hill and that's be slower.

The chill wind whipped her cheeks, stinging them, and felt like it sliced right through her jacket and slacks, seeming to grow colder with each passing second.

"Mon Dieu," a panicky voice came behind her, and she took a slim satisfaction in that she wasn't the only one bothered by this.

They were heading towards the bottom now, and their speed seemed ridiculous to Rogue. Nothing seemed this fast on a car, or a train, or- oh, God, they were going to die!

The sled began to turn, slightly, as they neared the bottom, and it seemed obvious it was going to spill them straight off the hill, just at the bottom.

"Keep it straight!" she hollered, feeling herself slide off as it turned. She was about to go skidding off. His hands pulled her back towards him at once, yanking her back on the sled. "Forget meh, steer!"

"I don' know how! Feel free to share if y' know, chere?"

She remained silent as the sled turned the rest of the way around, until she saw what was coming after them. "Aw, no," she said in disbelief.

Sabretooth, face infuriated, had one foot on a child's sledding saucer, and the other foot on the ground, propelling him forward in strokes. For a big fellow, he was moving really quickly and with remarkable balance.

A series of what she assumed were French curses came from behind her.

They hit a bump, and for a moment seemed to have left the ground, though Rogue's hands clutched the sled, keeping it beneath her, and they landed almost at once. It was a second before they realized they had hit the bottom and were skidding towards the woods. Rogue, not willing to watch Sabretooth nor see the impending white death, squeezed her eyes shut briefly, trying to gather her thoughts as to what to do next. The sled seemed to slow, and then jolted, as it hit something and sent both of them tumbling out.

Laughing, slightly hysterically, Rogue climbed to her feet, and, hands numb from having dragged them in the snow earlier, yanked one of the leather gloves off with her teeth. She ignored the biting cold which seemed to eat at her hand, and the incredulous look she got from the Cajun, who was still trying to get himself off the ground.

Leaping off of his saucer, Sabretooth bounded towards them.

There was no time to make it to the woods, clearly, which was an immense shame, as it meant they'd have to fight. Rogue's only weapon happened to be her hand, which would never get near the fellow before his yellowish nailed hands which seemed like claws had clashed her throat. Well, and Cody's football skills, which were no help since he had no experience in the cold, and a few residual memories from a fortune teller, assassin, and bouncer named Ida which unfortunately were accompanied with no residual skills.

"How many cards yah got?" she asked Gambit, who was poised, cards charging.

"Never enough," he told her, looking at his cards miserably. Clearly, he too was debating the inadequateness of his weapons. "An' y'?"

"Ah need ta touch him."

"Merde."

They had no choice. They had to fight. And it was doubtful they could win.

"Hey," came a nonchalant, if slightly disappointed voice from behind them.

They turned around at once, finding Bobby behind them.

"Dat's not possible," Gambit said uneasily.

"Sure it is. I slicked the bottom of a sled and went after you. Beat you by a lot, too," he said with a wicked little grin. "Oops, here comes Johnny."

"Where?" Gambit said, looking around in sheer horror.

Bobby stared at him. "Joke, man, from the movie… never mind, just throw a card at the damned thing!"

He did, but Sabretooth was getting good at dodging. Gambit, ignoring the other two, leaped forward, and from out of completely nowhere- or rather, from the depths of his trenchcoat, came up with what seemed like a small but thick stick which suddenly extended to a staff easily his own size and more.

Spinning it expertly, he struck Sabretooth in the head with it, but seemingly to no avail.

The remaining two watched, wondering what to do now.

"Can yah freeze him?" Rogue asked of Bobby, an idea formulating in her mind.

"Ah, I tried. I kind of missed. And he kind of ignored me. It was rather embarrassing."

"Well, try, yah damnYankee!"

He paused, swallowed, and held his hands in front of him in some strange position, as if awaiting a ball.

"What're yah doin'?"

"Ah…. it worked on an anime show," he said sheepishly.

She took a deep breath. "Do yah even know how to make it work?"

"Ah…. kinda. Um, not really? Sometimes?"

She gave him a look, then looked at her freezing bare hand. "Bobby?"

"What?" he asked, his eyes nervously going to her hand.

She looked over to where Remy LeBeau was attempting to fight Sabretooth. He wasn't doing badly, and he rather looked like he was getting used to this. But Sabretooth was shockingly fast and terribly strong, and the moment he got his hands on Gambit, it was all over.

"Yah wanna try something personally hazardous to yah health or let him die?" she asked abruptly.

He swallowed, looking at her with mild fear. "Well, ah, that isn't really much of a choice, is it?"

"Nope. It's not. But ah think- and it's just a theory- that maybe if ah use mah powers on yah, we can figure somethin' out. "

He looked at her, and at the way she was looking at her hand. "What is it you do?"

She knew what he meant. "Ah touch someone, ah steal their memories an' if they're a mutant, powers. Can't help it. Ah hold on too long, maybe ah kill them."

"Whoa," he said, blue eyes going wide. "Harsh." He back-stepped his train of thought. "For you, I mean. So, let's get this done." He held out his bare hand, patiently.

She stared at him, in disbelief. "You serious?"

He looked at her, then looked at Gambit. Wincing and grimacing, he nodded quickly. He stepped closer, still holding out his hand. "I- I'll remember some things, won't I? How much I love my family… and, uh, all that? Even if my powers-"

"It's not gone," she said, surprised. "Not unless ah hold on too long, and even then ah'm not sure. Ah just- copy them. Though it's kind of painful. Ah mean, Ah take them, but they come back. Ah think."

He blinked in surprise, then looked over to where Gambit had just been sent flying by a punch to the head, and was now staggering to his feet. "Oh, that's nothing, then. What're you waiting for?"

It was Rogue's turn to blink, and she shook her head. Despite herself, she was touched. "Bobby-"

"Bobby Drake," he added, grinning.

"Well, you must be a hell of a guy." She took his hand, awkwardly. Had she been a different sort of girl, she would have liked to have kissed his cheek for the gesture, but she wasn't and she didn't know how to go about it at all, so she settled for a handshake.

"Eh," he said casually, "not so much." Firmly, he gripped her hand.

Immediately, she was flooded with memories, even as she instantly let go.

**_"And it's Drake with the puck, passes to Bradshaw, who passes back to Drake, who passes to Jackson, who scores on English! And it's an assist for Drake!"_**

_**"Enough with the commentary, Bobby!" the girl in goal snapped, glaring at him as he danced about the ice, stick above his head, zipping around with ease in the frozen rink set up in a friend's backyard.**_

_**"Well, you know one way to shut me up, Wendy," he said, winking.**_

_**She laughed in his face, and he tumbled to the ice, clutching his heart.**_

_**"I'm wounded! My heart, shattered! My-"**_

_**"Enough flirting with my girlfriend, Bobby," his friend said menacingly, flourishing his stick dramatically like a sword.**_

_**He stuck out his lip. "Everyone else let's me flirt with their girlfriends… you're such a spoilsport, Jackie." He leaped to his feet, stick out. "En garde!"**_

"_**Must you spend all your time in the summer in the water, Bobby?" Mrs. Drake complained, listening to him whine about the sunburn as she applied aloe vera to his back. "You never remember to put any lotion on-"**_

_**"I'm on fire, Mom," he moaned. "Every inch of me's on fire-"**_

_**"MOM! Bobby's embarrassing me by being such a baby in front of my friends!" a boy with equally sandy brown hair but darker eyes shouted, several years younger than his older brother. His friends elbowed each other and laughed at this, as did the boy himself.**_

_**"Then now you understand how I feel!" Bobby yelled back, before moaning, "but no one could understand how I feel now- the pain, the pain-"**_

"'_**Our children need to be protected from this growing menace. This great nation was created so that our descendants might live in freedom and the happiness we wish for them, but among such threats, how are they expected to be safe? When there are creatures capable of feats previously only imagined, when-'" Mr. Drake changed the channel, shaking his head. **_

_**"Where's a game of football when we need one?" he grumbled.**_

_**"Wait, I'd like to hear the end of Senator Kelly's speech," Mrs. Drake interjected, gesturing at her husband.**_

_**He glanced at the two boys, who sat slumped, bored, waiting for their father to change the channel to ESPN. Bobby sipped from his can of Pepsi, ignoring what his parents were saying. "It'll be on again during the eleven o'clock news," their father informed her. "Last thing we need is the boys getting scared by all that claptrap over a bunch of freaks."**_

_**"I'm not scared," Bobby protested indignantly. "They can do neat things, like kill people with looks, I bet." He glared at his brother. "Power I wish I had some days-"**_

_**"Bobby," his mother admonished warningly.**_

_**He rolled his eyes and sipped his Pepsi. Or tried to, since nothing came out. He paused and stared at it, then tapped the can. "Whoa," he muttered to himself. "Freaky." He studied the can. Frosted over. He blinked. No no no no no. This couldn't be happening. He'd tried to convince himself that incident with the snowing on the bus and freezing the feet of the goalie on the other hockey team were just freak accidents, but…**_

_**"Something wrong, man?" his brother asked him, elbowing him and trying to 'accidently' slosh his brother's drink.**_

_**"Nope," he lied, forcing a grin. "Not a thing…"**_

"Jeez," said Bobby, wide-eyed and stumbling. "Holy headache, that is some case of a shock you've got there! Whoa, I think I'm going to be sick…"

**Man, I really look like an idiot from this point of view. Ugh, is this the piece of me stuck in your head? Hey! I'm in a girl's head! Can I read your thoughts and you'll tell me how to get-**

No, she thought sharply.

**Ah, okay then. Um, you should probably help Gambit now. Looks like our friend the Yellow Ranger's going to snap his stick.**

"What?" she said aloud.

"I said," said Bobby, whose eyes were fluttering, "that I think I'm-"

**Sabretooth tiger. On Power Rangers, it was… yeah, never mind that, just tell the other me to stop gagging, will you? It's enough to make me sick.**

"Ah don't feel cold anymore," Rogue commented, staring at her hand. "Ah…" She looked up, and took a sharp breath as she watched Gambit fly across her line of vision smack into a tree. "Bobby!" she shouted.

"Yeah- Oh, right, Gambit!"

"Yah freezy-thing, how's it work?"

"What, like I know?"

**Ach. All you have to do's breathe with the cold and concentrate.**

Rogue, head reeling, yelled, "Yah have ta breathe with the cold and concentrate!"

"What! What! How you mean that? I'm not good at concentrating, Rogue!"

**YES I AM! I'm very good at it! Why on earth would he tell a girl that? Um, try, ah- oh! It's like hockey! Think of the ice the way it looks when the Zamboni's just cleaned it off!**

"What in the name of Gawd is a Zamboni?" she hollered at the sky.

Bobby, blinking in the light, stopped dead. "Oh," he said, with a shrug, which became a grin. He stared at his hand, and a shape began to crystallize in his hand, a very rough ice shape of, apparently, a truck. He paused and looked at it.

**You want me to help you do that, too?**

"That'd probably be good," Rogue said, looking at the shiny, beautiful snow all around her. A part of her mind knew she hated it, but right now she simply couldn't, because Bobby loved it and a piece of him was dominant in her mind. Gambit had about twenty cards charged and was hurling them all at Sabretooth, and no kids were coming down the hill anymore, so someone was probably calling the cops.

**All you got to do is stop blocking my memories. The answer's in there.**

"Yah'd better go back like a good jack-in-the-box when ah'm through," she ordered, then, like a word on the tip of her tongue, strained to reach the memory she needed, just as she had when she'd needed Cody's football skills.

Suddenly, she knew what it was like to ice skate, how to check, what penalties got you how much time in the box, the score of the hockey game Bobby had seen at six, and not much else, since she hadn't held on long. But she knew the sparkle and shine of ice, and she looked up at Bobby.

He grinned at her, and, with a hopeful look, held out his hand in the proper direction.

Gambit narrowly dodged a series of sharp icicles that shot at his head. "Have y' lost y' mind?" he shouted, red eyes flashing, sunglasses long gone.

"Whoops," said Bobby, biting his lip. This time aiming more carefully, he closed his eyes, turned away, and held out his hand. Rogue, more uncertainly and fighting not to say the word dude, held her hands out before her face, giving them wary glances.

A huge burst of thick white mist exploded from Bobby's direction, to a lesser degree from Rogue's, and Sabretooth snarled, expression somewhat confused, as it swirled about him, particularly around his feet. Gambit backed hurridly away, retrieved his staff, and leaned on it, looking quite dazed. After a moment, he began to clap bemusedly.

Sabretooth's feet were soon firmly locked in a thick block of ice, and he growled out curses with numbed lips, for the rest of him was frosted over in a thin layer of dotted ice, even his mangy hair.

The power cut out from Rogue quickly, leaving her drained, but Bobby stared at his hands, worried, as ice continued to swirl around them, more thickly. "I don't know how to make it stop."

"T'ink of ice cream meltin' on a hot day," Gambit suggested, leaning heavily against his staff and looking on the verge of laughing at Creed.

"That's a sad thought," Bobby said accusingly, as the ice evaporated at once from his hands. "Cooool," he said, blue eyes dancing.

"Not bad, Freeze Pop," he continued, red eyes flashing. "No' bad at all. Y' did what I couldn't, anyhow. So what's y' deal, chere? Y' copy powers?" His eyes flickered to her hand. "With touch?"

"That's the gist of it," she said tightly.

"Felt kind of like you'd completely taken 'em for a minute, but then I could still get at 'em- just to a lesser degree. Not that what I just did was lesser degree, but… man. Youch." Bobby shivered. "I mean, dude, I'm actually cold. I can't remember the last time I was cold."

"I don' believe y' jus' saved my skin," Gambit said, rubbing his head.

"Again," Bobby emphasized, then stopped to take in what the young man was saying and indignantly added, "Gee, thanks!"

Rogue was staring at Sabretooth. "What d'we do with him? He's gonna defrost."

Bobby didn't even consider. "Drain him dry!" he urged her.

"Ah don't want him in mah head!" she protested. "An' ah'm not a killer, either!" At least, not until Cody died. But she had every intention of fixing that, somehow.

"Freeze him de rest o' de way an' den I blow him up," Gambit suggested, grinning maliciously and shuffling his cards.

Sabretooth, shaking, spit in his direction. "Go ahead, LeBeau," he managed to sneer. "Woudn't be the first time, would it?"

The young man stiffened, then, for some reason, looked at Rogue, who, horrified, looked away. He nodded as if she'd confirmed something.

Gambit shook his head at Bobby, who looked apt to do it. "Non. Not in cold blood. An' I t'ink I've jus' demonstrated de difficulty of doin' it de other way." He rubbed his head again, cursing softly. "Wish de cold'd kill him," he said wistfully. Stumblingly, he headed over towards Bobby Drake. "How long till it melts or he busts loose?" he wondered.

Bobby held out his hands helplessly. "No clue. Awhile, man."

Gambit frowned, then, still leaning against his staff, held out his gloved hand, some of the fingers ungloved, to Bobby. "Never properly introduced myself. Mon pere'd be ashamed. I'm Remy LeBeau. Can't say it's nice t' meet y', cause, no offence, but I don' t'ink I like y' very much, but I owe y' a hell o' a lot, if one can say m' life's a lot, an' de least I can give y' is my name."

Bobby, laughing, clapped his hand, slightly too hard. "You're all right, dude. Bet we'd make a pretty swell team. You play hockey?"

Rogue coughed slightly, trying not to laugh. "The Dynamic Duo," she said sarcastically. "The Coated Crusader and the Boy Wonder. Ah'm thrilled ta make y' acquaintance."

To her surprise, Sabretooth let out a woof of laughter, even as Remy scowled at her and Bobby protested vehemently.

They began to edge subtly away from Sabretooth, towards the wood, and waited to speak again until they were sure they were out of his hearing range. Bobby, thrilled with himself and discussing loudly the finer points of winter (they let him, the returned cold was overwhelming Rogue and the other was too tired to interrupt him), led them through a brief patch of woods until, up a slight, muddy incline, there was visible a road, with what appeared to be a family diner.

"See? Cars," he said cheerfully. "And the best food in town. The Iron Skillet's great. But, more than that, from here you can head out of… what? What is it?"

Remy paused, trying to broach the topic delicately. "Y'd best be gettin' home, Iceman," he tried, glancing at the sky. "Y' want y' tracks t' be as faded as possible fo' when 'e gets out. Ain't got much interest in y', but now dat y've given him bother, if y' made it easy he might swing round t' give y' trouble. But y' can prob'ly handle him best o' us here, anyhow."

Bobby's eyes went wide, indignantly, and he glanced between them. "What, I save the day, booya, and now you're telling me to skedaddle?"

"Yah got a family?" Rogue asked him, knowing full well he had. "'Cause unless yah get gone, the sad thing is yah're gonna have ta leave them, or yah'll have ta kill that fellow back there. And ah don't thing yah're one for murder, Bobby."

He looked between them, frowning, his gaze settling on LeBeau. "Oh, this is so not fair. What about Rogue? Won't he come after her?"

Remy glanced at her sharply. "She's coming wit' me." That shocked Bobby into silence, while Rogue merely glowered at this presumption.

At last, Bobby stammered out a "W-w-why?"

"'Cause unless I'm dead wrong- an' I'm not- she's here t' find me. Ain't dat right, chere?"

"How the hell do you know that?" she insisted, glaring at him.

He handed Rogue her left glove. "Dis is Belle's. An' I'm no' dumb, 'spite de accent an' pretty face."

"Can someone fill me in here?" Bobby shouted, waving his hands in their faces.

Rogue, scowling, took the glove and shoved it on. "His girlfriend's an assassin and she's tryin' to kill meh. Got a few of her memories and they led me here 'cause ah thought somebody here could stop her. Ah wasn't expectin' ta find her boyfriend."

"She's no' mon girlfriend," he said sourly, but then laughed, rubbing his head. "Now, dis is what y' call irony. Seein' I'm here in Boston tryin' t' get our pretty friend back dere offa my back."

"Last thing ah need is more problems," Rogue said furiously, glaring at him. "Who says ah need yah help?"

Bobby glanced between them. "You need his help. Almost as bad as he needs yours."

"Hey!" they protested at the same time, looking apt to strangle him, or strangle each other.

He laughed, looking between them with a highly amused expression on his face. "Oh, I'd pay to see what's going to happen to you next," he muttered, scratching his head. "So… guess this is so long. For a bit, since you'd better swing back. And… um, good luck, y'all." Awkwardly, he shook Remy's hand again, and then, leaving her aghast, patted Rogue's head. Looking back and waving, he tripped off down the road, in the opposite direction of Sabretooth, singing to himself.

Rogue looked at Gambit. He looked at her.

"So…." he said slyly. "What's yo'r real name?"

She sighed. "We should've let yah die."

"Dat realleh hurts, chere."

"Stop callin' meh that!"

"Y' even know what it means?" he wondered, as his eyes drifted over the cars in the parking lot. He looked at her expression. "Ah, somebody should' a taken French lessons, non?"

She considered delving into Belle's memories, or what scraps were left of them, just to show him up, but quickly decided that would be a very bad move. She settled for glaring at him.

"Vous allez être une douleur dans l'âne," he told her, with a beatific smile. It faded quickly. "What'd y' see o' me in Belle's memories, anyhow? I need t' know dat, o' we go nowhere."

She crossed her arms. "Not much," she told him flatly. "Or ah wouldn't have come, would ah, since ah would have known it was you-"

"Nah, didn't use Gambit till recently." He paused, a sudden thought striking him. "Hmm. Wonder how long it'll take John t' realize I left town."

"Who's that?" she demanded, eyes flashing. "Yah've got someone else after yah?"

"Non. 'E's a friend." His eyes flashed. "Sometimes. Anyway, I'm de one askin' de questions," he told her, hitting a button on his staff that allowed him to fold it down back to its compact size. "So, Belle knows where I am. Dat's bad. She wants to kill y'. Dat ain't good, eit'er. Already know she wants t' kill me. Dat doesn' help eit'er o' us much. So, y'knew what I looked like, 'cause y' weren't surprised by dese, non?" he said somewhat bitterly, tapping the side of his eye. "And y' know I killed Julian, right? Her frere?"

She looked at him, remembering the pain in his face as Belle stabbed him and looked at the blank matter-of-factness he said it with now. "That, and that yah wouldn't betray yah family when she wanted yah to. And that's all."

Something unreadable flickered over his face. "Y' saw dat?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "Okay, den. Look, I don' know if I can offer y' much protection. 'Ticularly if y' really ticked Belle off an' she comes back wit' her gun. An' I suspect I'm not what y' were hopin' fo'. 'Specially since I'm not 'bout t' kill Belle-"

"I didn-"

"-An' she's not 'bout t' be scared off by me, neit'er. Prob'ly de opposite. An' trust me, she can be somet'in of a headache when she wants t' be."

Rogue raised her eyebrows at him. "Ah've met her. That, ah know. What ah'm wonderin' is if yah know how to hotwire a motorcycle."

He stared at her, an expression shining over his face. He didn't dare to look behind him. "Y' can't possibly be tellin' me…." He trailed off as he followed her pointed finger to a bike parked in the very corner of the parking lot.

"Must've hit yah're head awful hard ta have missed that," she said merrily.

He looked at them, then at the motorcycle, and a laugh rang from his throat, which, despite her fighting it, brought color to her cheeks. He had to be so goddamnably good-looking, far more so in person than in a distant memory, with his unbelievable eyes and features. This could not be a good thing.

"Give me two minutes," he told her, and more severely, "an' don' e'en t'ink 'bout askin' t' drive. Don't e'en t'ink it."

"Who, me?"

It was less than two minutes later that the motorcycle revved up and away. "Hold on," Remy shouted to her when she showed no signs of doing so.

"Hey, ah'm not gonna fall off-"

"I'm sure. Grab on!"

Reluctantly, and very awkwardly, with as little contact as possible, she did, scowling. He'd already made her wear the lousy extra helmet, but at least it was black, not pink.

He smirked and the motorcycle, with a roar, headed off.

Inside the diner, a man shoving a large cheeseburger, with the works, into his mouth, stopped mid-bite. Pausing quickly to wipe his mouth, he rushed outside, blood pounding in fury.

The moment he looked at the tread marks and the absent spot, he knew. Someone had taken his precious bike.

Snikt.

Involuntarily, his admantium claws shot from out of his right hand as he sniffed the air. His brows crinkled as he tried to recognize the combination, dismissing the scents of gas and fried food. After a moment, the scent of spices and cigarettes became vaguely recognizable enough. "Cajun," he muttered to himself. What idiot from New Orleans would possibly be up here at this time of year?

He paused after a second, another, more familiar scent interjecting. He stood suddenly fully upright, claws shooting back in. First of all, that was Creed's scent. And more than that… Natasha's. Just a bit, but unmistakable, trailing… both of the culprits who'd taken his motorcycle.

He frowned severely, angered. Boston used to be such a quiet city. This was all Frost's fault.

Another thing nagged at him, almost as much as the motorcycle.

Who the hell was the dame who was wearing his jacket?


	6. Like Fire and Ice

A/N: Howdy. I've been tipped, by a very wise and knowledgeable guru of such matters, that it may be wise to shorten the length of my author's note by answering longer reviews directly by e-mail. So, if that's all right with those of you, who, like me, prefer to leave long reviews, I'll do that if you give me the okay, though my response for this time'll be below, and I'll try to get the asterisks indicating the end of the note and start of the fic up for those of you who skip my ramblings, 'cause they tend to disappear when I upload. And I owe an apology to anyone who couldn't review because apparently, anonymous reviews were unabled. Sorry, it just went that way automatically, and I apologize, because for some reason, that message has always struck me as discouraging and elitist, and it makes me sad to think it may have discouraged someone out there from reviewing because it took to long to log on, and I'm sure there's somebody out there who it did. But, pressing onwards, I'm very glad my last chapter went over well, cause I liked it lots. This one's definitely more talky, I guess, but I had fun writing it anyways and it's just as long. So tell me what you think, love it, hate it, approve or disapprove. All comments are welcome, even ones of only one word. So…

Thanks for reviewing to enchantedlight!

ishandahalf- Love at first sight is fun, but Remy's opinion of it is clearly a negative, and then it's just appearance-based, typically. Yep, I myself found it amusing that Rogue started a bar fight, and more amusing that you latched on to Bobby's line about Gambit staring. I mean slow-blooming in the sense that they're gonna have to work on standing each other first. And I just love having them bicker. It's fun to write. Yeah, being dead or maimed further than they already are is a definite relationship damper, though I'm not one to offer guarantees either way. Does that sound evil? I think it does. Mwa ha ha. I'm not, though. Not really. Oh, Rogue had a pretty good idea Belle, having tried to kill Remy, was his ex, she's just tormenting him, and testing his reaction by calling him his girlfriend. Yes, their goals are definitely in common, pissing off Belle included, and I liked how you pointed out how their lives are interwined. Good point. And the sandwich line just randomly popped out of my head while writing, so I was happy it cracked you up. Ah, I loved the sled bit, so I'm thrilled it came off as funny. Remy's thievery is definitely at a high point, he'd probably have to pluck a baby's pacifier from its ickle little mouth to trump his latest venture. But you thought I would kill Bobby! Honestly? While flattered you fear that I'd do anything to my characters, I regret horribly having to kill characters. In fact, until recent years I was in denial that in good writing not everybody gets a happily ever after ending. Partly since then you can't toy with characters anymore, but I'm adjusting. The comic book industry, likewise, has troubles letting characters go. But, don't fear, there's only one person who I'm killing for certain and anybody else would be spur of the moment, though that's not likely to lessen fear any, is it? Well, don't worry, I'm not going to go all West Side Story on you. Nothing too terribly tragic. And gosh, was I obsessed with Power Rangers as a kid! I still remember all their names! My cousins and I played them constantly and they used to fight over who was the Green Ranger! You know what's really sad? My brother and I watch Saturday morning cartoons, and he's been back on Power Rangers for the past year, and he isn't cute anymore, and he can't seem to find other work. They've even clearly got a much skinnier guy in the costume, and that's derived just from the commercials. Anyway, writing the ending was delightful, and I love the image of the chain of people after them, though Natasha isn't actually on their trail, Wolverine sensed her scent still on the jacket, though, but, as you can expect, SHIELD'll send someone. So, very happy to provide amusement, and I'm trying to catch that snowed bunny!

EmeraldKatsEye- I'm still working on the theme song. Someone skilled, I'm sure, could write Belle to be very likeable, to the tune of a book like Wicked or something. Problem is, it's hard to like both Rogue and Belle, and as much fun as Belle is to write, I like her firmly in the villain role. But better shades of grey than black and white anyways, right? Thanks for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy this chapter!

UncannyAsianGirl- I have my very long response all written and will send it by e-mail as soon as I can get back online when my mother stops hovering over me like a hawk and using the phone! Ach! Right now I'm trying to just update this, but will send it ASAP. You may get it before this is even online. Thanks immensely for the tips, and I love all your comments!

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She couldn't help but thrill in the speed they were traveling at. There was nothing, she'd decided immediately, like being on a motorcycle. With the wind whipping by, the high velocity was keenly felt, and Rogue could practically feel the road under the bike, as it swerved expertly around the slow moving cars on the highway. This was the best!

Still, it would have helped if it wasn't snowing heavily, damp and thick, collecting on her uncovered hair, clothes, and the bike itself, as well as making the road slushy and slow, which sloshed upward at her every five seconds, as the motorcycle roared through it. It was freezing cold, but if the completely snow-covered hair of her traveling companion was any indication, at least she wouldn't have the worry about fellow drivers noticing the odd streaks in her hair

It might, also, have been considerably better if she didn't have to hold onto the waist of the young man in front of her, who she leaned back from as far as possible but was forced to grip somewhat tightly in consideration that she'd otherwise go sliding right off the end of the slippery seat. It would have helped, also, if he'd cease yelling pointless comments over the wind, apparently for the sake of listening to his own voice. And the wind kept flapping his damned trenchcoat in her face.

It'd also have been better if she could drive.

After all, he had a head wound, she thought to herself, glaring at the back of Remy's head. That had to be like letting a friend drive drunk, right? And that was bad.

"D- y' -ear dat?" he called back to her, most of his words lost in the wind's screams but his accent still hearable.

"No!" she shouted back, freezing, somewhat annoyed and not really wanting to speak to him more than possible since she had a strange urge to strangle him every time he opened his mouth. He showed no signs of stopping, ever, and her shoulder was killing her. She could use a break to change the bandage. Besides, they couldn't wait until the roads had cleared up? At this rate, it was doubtful Sabretooth would thaw, and Belladonna, wherever she was, shouldn't have any more luck traveling in this weather than they did.

He said something, tilting his face back, and she noticed he looked worried. Reluctantly, she edged closer to listen, distinctly uncomfortable. "Sirens, chere. Behind us."

He was actually being serious, rather than commenting on a woman in a vehicle they'd passed or on the vehicle itself. Nor was he asking an imbecilic question about her. Raising her eyebrows a smidge, she leaned backwards slightly to listen, turning ahead. As she was about to dismiss his comment, saying there wasn't anything, something reached her ears. Faintly, but steadily growing, there was definitely the ceaseless whine associated with flashing red lights. "Aw, son of a bi-" she cut off when she realized he wasn't watching the road, and instead shoved him forward.

"Watch de bruises!" he bellowed, indignant, but looking the right way again, swerved around a truck in time. "Dey can't catch -yhow, can't get t'rough de-" It was his turn to stop short as he noticed the cars ahead had come to a halt. There was a flicker of red ahead, lighter than the crimson of his eyes.

"Non," he groaned. "Don' tell me it's a police blockade."

His vision had to be foggy, Rogue decided, peering over his shoulders as he slowly maneuvered through the narrow spaces between a few cars. "It's an accident," she said, seethingly calm. A bit ahead, a car had smashed into the railing, from which trailed a slight decline, leading into woods. Police cars and an ambulance were gathered ahead.

He turned back as they found they were wedged between a few cars, the narrow space between the two lanes on the highway proving too much when one of the things blocking the space was a very large truck. "Dey're not after us?" Remy said, looking surprised and actually mildly offended.

"Doubtful," she said, sweetly. "Now, about yah head-"

"Y' not drivin'," he said firmly, turning his head and shoulders even more around, revealing the gash.

"Ah didn't say anything about that. Just thought yah should know, yah blood's freezin'."

Sullenly, he turned back around, snow falling from his hair to lightly sprinkle over his face. "Congealing," he said unhappily. "It' jus'-"

"An' that's just a fancy word for freezing," Rogue countered. "Yah should really have that looked at. Last thing yah need is brain surgery."

For some reason, that made him laugh, very hard, as he leaned over the front of the motorcycle, smoke billowing from the exhaust as visible as their breath in the cold air, as he let it run.

She eyed him. "Y'know what, on second thought, yah might benefit from brain surgery."

"Y'have no idea…."

"Ah'm thinkin' a lobotomy," she said, easing away from him since they were temporarily stalled, relieved to no longer be so close. It made her uneasy.

"Mos' people seem t' t'ink I'd be better off not t'inking, anyhow, chere. Adding y'self t' de list?" his voice was expressionless, and his face turned away.

"Potentially. Ah don't know yah're thoughts- _though ah have a feeling ah would strongly object ta many of them_-" she added fiercely as he looked over his shoulder with a smirk, "an' mah bother seems ta be more with what yah say-"

"Somehow, I don't t'ink y' de one t' be teaching me t' put a funnel between mon head and mouth."

"If yah're implying what ah think yah're implying," Rogue said grimly, poking him in the back with a gloved finger she reluctantly pulled out of the sleeves of the bomber jacket, "ah'm thinkin' y'all better backtrack mighty quick, or-"

"Y'll beat me up?" he questioned, bemused, swatting the snow falling around his face and keeping his eyes pointedly down as people in other halted cars looked over to see who was on the noisy but undeniably cool motorcycle.

"Don't think ah couldn't," she said grumpily, rubbing her thoroughly damp and hence currently very straight hair. It was going to frizz up when dry, she just knew it, and she hated the thought of this snide but good-looking idiot being around when she was looking horrendous. Not, she thought to herself, eyeing the dried mud on her pants, that she wasn't already looking atrocious. He, however, looked not in the slightest frazzled, despite the scuffs on his coat, wound, and the way his shaggy hair sagged rather pathetically on his face. "Ah faired well enough against yah girlfriend-"

"Ex," he said loudly.

"Fahne. _Former_ girlfriend. Happy?"

"I'm sittin' in de snow, dere's cops ahead of us an' more pullin' in any second, I'm listenin' t' y', an' y' askin' me if I'm happy?" He sounded not only infuriated but incredulous she would even phrase it that way.

She glanced at the motorcycle, which she hoped her pants wouldn't freeze to. "Yep."

He paused as the cop cars behind the stalled line of cars pulled at last in, and a few got out, with flashlights. Not liking where this was going, he turned around, leaning back, not noticing Rogue nearly fell off the bike trying to lean away from him. "Enh, Rogue?" he called.

"What? Do my ears deceive me? Did the great Gambit actually just manage to remember my name? Gawd, ah'm ever so flattered."

"Non, chere, y'hearin' t'ings. An' sarcasm's de lowest form of wit. Check out de boys in blue an' tell me dey're hear ta help wit' de accident," Remy suggested, indicating with one of his ungloved fingers, which looked rather numb.

Rogue couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Sarcasm's not the lowest form of- aw…."

"What? What?" he ordered, tugging on her sleeve without looking. His eyes were busy looking ahead, scanning for any way out.

"They've got a ticket book….."

"Non! I was only goin' ten over de speed limit! Dey can't pull you over fo' that."

She was startled by this, having been keeping a wary eye on the speedometer and all other instruments, analyzing carefully for when she got her certain turn to drive.

"Remy, yah were goin' seventy five…."

It registered first that she'd called him by his actual name, for the first time, and then what she'd said. "Yeah? Whatcha point, chere?"

"Speed limit's fifty-five."

Squinting and pausing briefly to wipe his forehead, he blinked, not looking back at her. "Not sixty-five?" he said weakly, at last.

"LeBeau! How well can yah see!" she said frantically, horrified by this as a cop called something over towards them.

"Very well, actually. Apparently better than most people…."

"Ah mean now!"

"De snow blurs t'ings up a lil', y'know dat-"

"The visibility's not all that bad! Ah can see!"

Ignoring the shouts of the cop, who'd now spotted the motorcycle, Remy grabbed onto the handles once more.

"Don't even think about driving over that car ahead of us," Rogue said sternly. "It's too slippery and-"

"I wasn't t'inkin' dat till y' said it."

"Look, we'll just take the ticket and-"

"Don't have any ID, chere. 'Specially not a license fo' a motorcycle. An' de coppers, even de best of 'em, don't like mutants much. Not wit' all de stuff goin' on in N'York wit' dat boy in de red and blue jammies-"

"Lost me there, Cajun. What- never mind, the cop's about three yards away, so-"

He'd found a space. "Grab on, Roguey," he shouted, a card shooting out of his sleeve and into his hand even as he manipulated the steering deftly.

"_What_ did yah just-" She snagged his waist just in time, as he peeled away. Unfortunately, they didn't go forward, turning a quick, tiny circle to pick up speed and then sharply right, slamming right through a tiny space between a car and the truck behind it. Doing so turned them straight towards the metal railing, which would trip up the wheel, stop the bike, and send them flying.

Before Rogue could manage to open her numb lips to insult his choice of direction, he let his left hand rise as he loosened his death grip on the handle, a blindingly bright aura of purplish red haze glowing about it, seemingly with darker specks circling. It was almost hypnotizing. Gracefully, his hand slid back, jetting forward to hurl the card directly into the metal.

She hadn't expected, from what she'd seen, that he could explode anything as thick as that low strip of metal.

As it exploded, the light temporarily dancing over her vision in dark spots as both ducked the shards of metal, she'd been proven quite wrong. They shot through the small cloud of smoke and flame without any difficulty, jolting awkwardly down the incline until they sped into the woods. The motorcycle had no difficulty, surprisingly, rolling over the stones and shrubbery, slicing right through the thick snow and showering them with it, but then they neared the big trees, where there was only a thin layer to slush through. Somewhat unsteadily, the bike weaved through the thick, mostly pine trunks.

"Impressed?" he questioned, the trees blocking some of the wind and their voices carrying with more ease now that they no longer rode in direct opposition to that rush of air.

"Try flabbergasted at yah stupidity! Ah can hear them call it in now! Two dangerous mutants, on a motorcycle, gone off-road! Get the chopper and go after them!" she shouted, severely annoyed, even more so as a branch he ducked brushed scratchingly against her face.

"Y' can hear dat?"

"Ah'm bein' figurative!" Rogue yelled, resisting the urge to hit him on the head only because she didn't dare let go at the speed he was going, having a feeling she'd tumble straight into the woods. "Mah Gawd, we'd be better off talkin' ta him!"

"No, don't t'ink so," he said briefly, not glancing over his shoulder.

"Well, why not? The police after us too, on top of everyone _else_? What could be worse than this?"

"Me blowin' up de squad car. Or anot'er car dere abouts," he said, not very loudly, but she could hear him now. Rogue wondered how long the woods went on, and if they were going in the right direction if they intended to get to the nearest road. The way the motorcycle was handling the terrain was startling. It was a bit alarming, how the snow didn't hinder it at all, and she was pretty sure that's what snow usually did to motorcycles.

"Why would yah do something kamikaze like that?"

"Stayed dere any longer, wasn't sure if I could help it. Particularly if de cop came o'er an' pissed me off, non?"

With difficulty, she managed to elbow him slightly as they swerved through the woods. "Gawd, ah thought _ah_ had anger issues…"

"I didn't mean on purpose!" he shouted, squinting uneasily at the trees. He couldn't make out what direction to head in, unsure where to find a road. "Jus', tell me quick if any tree lights-"

"Yah can't control yah powers!"

Her voice was raised several notches too high, not to mention being near his ear, and he winced, painfully. "Can y' controls yo'rs?"

"Ah got mahne three days back! An' ah don't blow people up!" she shouted, seriously alarmed.

"I can't blow up _people_…."

"Ah feel so much better!"

"Anyway, it's jus' de bump on de head," he lied, feeling the itch of heat under his skin, energy demanding to be released.

Rogue, peering around him to see what direction they were heading in and at what speed, since his height prevented her from seeing over him, yelped, "WATCH OUT!"

Very narrowly, seeing it extremely late, he swerved another tree, large and moss covered. However, it clipped the very back of the motorcycle, scratching it. That wouldn't make its owner happy.

"How," she said icily, and loudly since they still needed to speak over the roar of the motor, as they continued to unsteadily rush through snow, "did yah manage not ta see the biggest honkin' tree in the forest?"

He didn't answer, too busy mulling several things over. One of those things currently included dropping her off the bike into the middle of a bush and driving off laughing his head off, but it was only a passing thought. He actually disliked the choice he knew he'd have to make more than that one.

"Yah better not tell meh yah just nearly sent us to the hellgates for dramatic effect," Rogue told him dangerously, her mind still picturing her narrowly escaped fate as a skidmark, on a tree, on the East Coast, of all places.

"Can't see," he told her reluctantly.

She went deathly, dangerously silent.

Feeling pressed by this to continue, Remy, miserably, admitted, "Too much blood drippin' in mon-"

"Pull over. Ah'm drivin'."

"Bad idea t' pull o'er just now," he insisted, glaring at the hazy woods before him. "I t'ink it might work if y' just wipe m' fore-"

"No."

"Somehow, I saw dat comin'. Climb in front, den," he said, eyeing the snow.

"What!"

"We stop dis t'ing in de snow, who knows if it ever start up again. Took a gamble goin' into de snow, but it's jus' stupid t' stop dead in it. Right now all we got goin' fo' us is one fine machine and momentum. 'Course, y' could jus' give me direction-"

Promptly, she let go of his waist and grabbed onto his shoulders, pulling her legs up until she was half-standing in a crouch on the back of the motorcycle, gripping his shoulders tightly enough that had her nails been long rather than cut to the quick, they would have dug right through his trenchcoat into his skin. Shocked, he shouted, "Sit down, y' daft fille!"

She ignored him as well as the bobbing and jolting of the motorcycle and quickly tried to decide which leg to move over. Not the right, since then she'd end up backwards, facing him, so very unsteadily, she lifted her left leg over the right side, awkwardly, and managed to get her foot on the other side of the bike. Unfortunately, only her foot, since the rest of her, without balance, started to teeter over the right side.

Somewhat astonishingly, Gambit let go of the steering to grab her and pulled her the rest of the way over, grabbing it again and scooting back just in time for her to end up in front of him rather than on top of him. "Y' gonna have t' learn not t' listen t' anyt'ing I say," he muttered, as her gloved hands went just on the inside of his on the handles. "I would've pulled it over if I actually t'ought y'd try dat."

"Ah don't like waits," Rogue said, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Cody's voice had popped up frantically in the back of her head and was listing the multiple ways one could die in falling from the back of a speeding motorcycle. "Let go, swamp rat. Ah've got it."

Slowly, his grip slackened, and one by one his fingers released from the handle bars. "Y' absolutely out o' y' mind," he hissed, while holding the cut on his head shut, his balance on the moving motorcycle without a grip not a problem. "An' I've known one too many filles who've been slightly unhinged, so don' do anyt'ing like dat again."

She ignored him. This was more like it, she thought, beaming internally. Of course, this meant the snow being hurled about by the thundering motorcycle was hitting her first, but the aching cold could be dismissed. She could feel the power in her hands, the smooth control hers to wield. The speed was controlled by the pressure of her right hand, and the metal of the throttle hers to pull back. The motorcycle hummed, her feet precisely fitted against it, turning with the curve. She could, of course, have used thicker pants, but everything else was perfect, even the heat emanating from the motorcycle. Well, if she allowed herself to forget she had a passenger.

She sliced through the snow with ease, turning with the motorcycle as she swerved past one tree, then looped by another, feeling the slight incline they were heading up. An incline meant more road, possibly, and going straight seemed to be the best policy. Her hand pulled slightly more tightly on the throttle, and humming, the speed picked up, slightly. Then slightly again, until soon it seemed to be constantly accelerating.

Gambit's hands shot very quickly around her waist, forgetting his cut, as, despite all the balance of a cat, the motorcycle threatened to move right out from under him.

"Watch yah hands!" she growled warningly, preemptively, not trusting him as far as she could throw him, which wouldn't be far at all.

"Y'd have t' be a smidge older, chere, fo' y' t' be worryin' 'bout de whereabouts o' _my_ hands," he said smoothly, voice too close to her ear. She jerked her head forward, eyes narrowed, ignoring him entirely as the ride took her over. She felt a silly grin spread across her face, but couldn't help it.

They raced through the snow now, in spots where it was more solidly packed practically gliding over it. They hit a rock, and for a moment sailed through the air, before landing with a roar again. She had none of the expertise or grace Remy had in steering the bike, but she had enthusiasm, speed, and great control to make up for it. And it helped that she could see.

"Y' have a license, right?" he asked in a shout, as they looped through a series of trees, bending a bit startlingly too close to the ground.

Actually, no. She didn't even have a permit. There'd been a problem there, being that Irene refused to take the test. Rogue had sort of a problem with any sort of vehicle, which had been plain when Ms. Darkholme had taken her to Florida one winter break and taught her how to jet-ski. That had sort of canceled any hopes of them letting her gain any form of permission to drive anything without the woman's intense supervision.

It wasn't a problem, really. More a need.

For speed.

They zoomed past a startled group of deer, Rogue having to swerve sharply and nearly crash into a shrubbery to avoid whacking several does, and soon they could hear the steady swish of cars and see the fringes of a highway, lit by the glowing streetlamps and dusky light of the crescent moon.

"Yeehah!" Rogue cried, pumping a fist into the air, unable to restrain herself, as she zipped it towards the highway, the speedometer slowly jerking farther in this constant state of acceleration. She wondered how much faster it was possible to go when on the steady road rather than bumpy, snowy ground.

The motorcycle skidded onto the road, leaving skidmarks.

Remy didn't think he'd been this alarmed a girl since seeing the deadly look in Belle's eyes when he'd proposed, badly.

In fact, he didn't think he'd ever been this alarmed by a girl.

''''''''''''''''''''''''

Bobby was staring blankly at the television, as he had been for the past few hours. It probably wasn't healthy, as he couldn't remember what show he'd been watching an hour ago, nor was he really aware what show he was watching now, except that the girls were very good looking and seemed to have some sort of powers. Though he doubted they were mutants, since they were fighting demons.

He wondered what Rogue and Gambit were doing right now. Probably, he suspected glumly, fighting porky bouncers with brass knuckles, blackjacks, coshes and all sorts of other wicked looking things he'd read about but wasn't sure what they quite looked like. In all likelihood, he suspected, his acquaintances would win and then deprive them of those fun little instruments for use in a later bar fight, or against Sabretooth when they caught up with. Or against Remy's assassin girlfriend.

He wondered whether she dressed like Le Femme Nikita or that girl on Alias and whether she was as good-looking as Rogue.

He was so out of it, full of self-pity for missing out on the adventure, just because of his family, he didn't hear the doorbell ring. Bobby was too occupied casting a resentful look at his dog, sleeping cozily by the fireplace, as one of the ties binding him to his house.

He heard his brother's feet pounding to get the door, which opened creakily, but that didn't mean he was listening. It didn't register.

Nor did the voices from the hall.

"Bobby! For you!" his brother Ronny bellowed. No response, so he came in, to where his brother was slumped, in a seeming stupor.

He waved a hand in front of his older brother's blue eyes, but it didn't register. "Bobby!" he bellowed. Getting no response, and somewhat pleased at the opportunity, he hit his brother with the flat of his hand, smack on the head.

Bobby, coming to life, lunged for him, toppling the couch backwards as he leaned heavily against it.

Ron backed up quickly, jerking his thumb to the door. "Company."

He rubbed his hair. "Female company?" he asked hopefully.

His brother shrugged, not caring enough to give an actual response.

Bobby raced for the door. He had to admit, he was entertaining a fantasy where Rogue and Remy had come back to plead for his desperately needed help. And another, smaller fantasy with a really good looking blonde in an outfit like Halle Berry's Catwoman suit coming to demand where Rogue had gone since she wanted to kill her, and then he could tag along to watch the two of them fight until he very nobly ended the fight. But that was a very small fantasy, and he wouldn't admit it to anyone, and would be deeply embarrassed had there been a telepath around.

Leaning against the wall, having stepped into the house uninvited and shut it against the cold, a young man waited, eyes half-closed and firmly focused elsewhere.

Namely, on the lighter he flicked continuously in his hand.

Bobby stopped, bells of paranoia going off in his head. "Can I help you?" he asked warily.

The other looked up. His features were good, and he could have easily been called handsome, except for the painful reddish orange shades of hair which Bobby could not bring himself to look at, as it made his eyes hurt. There was a look in his dark eyes, too, that made Bobby want to step back, as the only time he'd seen that expression was in the very hyper dog which had once belonged to an neighbor which thought it was fun to bite things, especially the fingers of young boys, and didn't see any harm in it. The grin which lit up his face was a very pleasant little smile, and yet, oddly, it made Bobby Drake want to shove him outside and lock the door.

"Funny," the lighter snapped open, then shut, "'s what I came t'ask yeh, mate." Oddly enough, his 'I' came out like an 'Oy'.

Bobby tilted his head at him, lifting an eyebrow. "You came to ask if you could help me?"

The man- well, not too much older than Bobby, but the years were enough of a difference that Iceman, whatever he may call himself, was a boy, and this was definitively a man, however young- straightened, revealing he wasn't all that tall, really, and quite lean. He flicked the lighter open again. "Needn't nitpick at my wordchoice, boyo, yeh get the gist of it." Again, Bobby noted, his 'my' sounded more like 'moih'.

Bobby folded his arms. "That an Australian accent or a lousy imitation?"

He snapped the lighter shut. "It's surprising how many times I've been asked that," he complained, sounding offended.

"Probably 'cause you sound like the Crocodile Hunter, dude."

"Him! No real sodding Australian'd watch that bloke," the man said in disgust, flicking his lighter open. Bobby's eyes followed the flame, as did those of the man himself.

"So…" Bobby said suspiciously. "Why have you come to my house? I somehow doubt you've jumped halfway around the world just to visit me. I also doubt I'd be flattered if that was the case."

His brother leaned around the corner. "'S he a nutcase, Bobbio? Want me to call the cops?"

The man glared witheringly at him. "Bugger off," he told him.

Ronny wasn't sure, but determined he'd probably been insulted. His gaze flickered to his brother.

Bobby dismissed him with a wave. "No… he's, um, an exchange student."

His brother stared at him. "We go to the same high school, Bobby."

"Not at that school," the man supplied.

"Yes, not our school," Bobby said hastily. "At… Boston College! He's, uh, studying abroad."

He considered this. "He's here why?"

"Tutoring!" the Australian said brightly, flickering the lighter again. Bobby winced at the metallic clink.

"You're failing something?" his brother said, laughing. "Oh, dear, we are in trouble." Throwing his head back, Ronny headed upstairs, still cackling. He couldn't wait until his parents got home.

"I could kill him, 'f'y' want," the fellow offered, closing the lighter. "Fer free. I'm no mercenary, I'm a purist."

Bobby had the scary feeling he meant it in earnest, and very quickly shook his head.

"Sure?"

"Very. Ah, dude, can you quit it with the lighter?"

It snapped shut. "Sorry? How's yeh mean?"

"Stop flicking it, maybe?"

The Australian considered. "Oh, that. No." He flicked it open and shut again, then with another click, kept it open, letting the tiny flame burn.

"Look, what do you want?" Bobby asked after a moment, exasperated. "Is this about a, a certain Cajun fellow with a gash in his head?"

The Australian looked mildly interested. "Someone shot Remy in the head?"

"Noooo," said Bobby very slowly, now becoming mildly alarmed.

"Oh. Suppose that's for the best. Would be amusing, though. Bloke can't do much against a gun. Yes, it is, I reckon. Ask another," he said, bemused, waiting eagerly for another question.

Bobby looked at him very nervously. "Let's try who are you and what'll take to get you out of my house."

The lighter flickered shut and open again. "Pyro."

Blue eyes went to the lighter, then up to the fellow's face. "That a name or a job description?"

The steady, unwavering grin widened. "More of a character trait."

"Greeeaaaat," Bobby said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's really good for you."

"Yes, it's positively grrrrrrreeeaat!" There was no sarcasm in this.

The boy nodded, face forced to remain severe by biting the lower lip. There was something comical about this fellow, but he felt it would be hazardous to his health to laugh at the man. Very, very hazardous. But it was just an impression.

"And, erm, the second half of my question, Dundee?"

Pyro considered. "Leaving your house? Well, mate, that'd prob'ly involve yeh being dead, or I being dead, or I learning the whereabouts of one Remy LeBeau. And I'd suggest you don't tell me you don't know where."

Bobby, in turn, considered this. "Tell me, do you know who I am?" he at last said, in what he hoped was his best impersonation of James Bond's Dangerous Voice.

"Yep. Took me all of five seconds to set the darling Pussy loose from the evil ice block you bound him in."

Bobby groaned. "Aw, man, that wasn't good!"

Pyro looked surprised. "Why?"

"He wants to kill Gambit! And… hey, for that matter, probably so do you, so maybe for you it was good…."

"I don't want to kill him! He's my mate! Why'd I want to kill him for?"

Bobby eyed him carefully. "His mate- I'm taking that to mean buddy, just to clarify- huh? Then how come you don't know where he is? How come you set Sabretooth loose?"

Pyro flicked his lighter again, waving it like he was at a rock concert. Eyes not on Bobby, he answered, "Oh, simple. The Kitty sees to it my salary's paid when they've got a job for me. Kitty be frozen solid, there be no paycheck, no paycheck means no nice lovely toys."

"Riiiight. So you and Remy would be friends how if you work for the folks who want him dead?"

Pyro blinked. "They want him dead now? That's new. Wonder how much they're offering?"

Bobby, getting swiftly bored, held out his hand and sent a small blast of ice towards the lighter, freezing the small flame solid. "Look, dude, I'm not buying it, and I suggest you get the hell out of my house."

Looking crushed, he stared at his lighter, eyes lowered, and very slowly and deliberately lopped off the frozen flame with one finger. Shutting it and opening it again, he raised his eyes, which were now hooded, the smile gone. Bobby's gaze went to the renewed flame. "I tried to be nice," he said dangerously, cupping the lighter in his hands. Bobby lost sight of it, but the bright orange glow emerging from between the man's fingers could not be of the good.

"Boy, am I dumb," he said quietly to himself, resisting the impulse to hit himself on the head as he began to rapidly step back. "Um…" he raised his hand as he would in school, meaning to scramble through a hasty apology, but then Pyro raised his right hand, revealing a ball of fire which flickered in sheets of flame.

Bobby wondered if he could freeze it before it was flung at his face. Wisely, he dove for the living room rather than attempting it, determined to get behind the coach. The fireball danced after him, leaping from Pyro's hand to crash into Bobby's hockey bag, sprawled in the hallway. It immediately was enveloped in flames.

"Not my gear!" Bobby yelped, forgetting the coach as he turned to ice over his bag, leaving it smoking. Streaks of fire shot towards him, and he ducked, trying to freeze the fire simultaneously. Instead, the a thin sheet of ice began to coat the ceiling with a crackle as the flames hit a pile of fabric on the coach.

"My mother's crocheting!" he shouted in abject horror, moving to freeze it, then stopped. He wasn't all that keen on those sweaters and scarves, as they itched something awful. Guiltily, he ignored it for the moment, peeking around his father's large chair, as the flames rose higher in a quick crackle. Reluctantly, he turned and froze it.

Pyro had his lighter open, and the tiny flame streaming from it into his hands formed a shape of some sort of fire-beast, which he seemed to be about to send straight at Bobby.

Quickly, Bobby looped an arm around the chair to freeze it. Plummeting to floor, the ice exploded instantly with a loud crash. "Jeez!" he bellowed, back up against the chair. "This is not cool! This is my house!"

"Only for the next couple of minutes, mate," came the voice calmly. With a start, Bobby jerked away as he heard the sound of something catching aflame. All around him, sparks were arising around the furniture, looking poised to erupt into flame.

Bobby thought quickly. He could probably freeze most of them, or manage to freeze the man himself, but he had a very nervous feeling about the size of the fires this Australian could control. Remy spoke French, just like the French-Canadians, so it'd be believable to tell Pyro he was going to Canada, right? He only had to remember the name of one of those French cities… "He's going to Quebec!" he called loudly. "Or-or maybe Montreal!"

"Pick one, matey," the voice said, friendly again.

"He, uh, hadn't decided yet! He, uh, was going to head, um, wherever more suckers were being born every minute!" Bobby called desperately. He liked his house. He felt pretty confident he could beat this guy, since ice trumped fire, he was certain. But he was very fond of his possessions and not keen on the idea of them going up in smoke.

The fire around him evaporated with a disappointed 'puft'.

"Yagh!" Bobby shouted, as he looked up to see Pyro's face peering down at his crouched position over the top of the chair. Annoyed with himself, he straightened, walked over to his hockey bag, and began to methodically brush the ashes off. Bobby cast a glance at Pyro, who was now settled pleasantly, hands folded over his lighter, in the comfortable easy chair he'd been hiding behind.

"Reasonable enough," Pyro decreed, grinning again. "If yeh lied, 'course, I'll come and watch yer folks dance about with a merry case of hotfoot."

Bobby doubted he meant when a person stepped in water. "How'd you find me?" he demanded, highly annoyed and somewhat worried other crazed mutants would be showing up at his doorstep. "Aw, my jersey's smoking! They make us buy those!"

"It's yer mummy's money," Pyro pointed out, stretching back lazily and pushing the arms of the chair back so that the footrest popped out. "Pussy Willow gave me a name, an' I copped a description from a few obliging coppers, and it ain't too hard to follow Frosty the snowman. Shouldn't have gone testing yer powers on the streetlamps, mate. Golly, I had less trouble finding Remy."

Forcibly restraining himself from commenting on the 'golly', Bobby swallowed his sarcastic remarks and inquired, "Now that we seem to be getting on so jolly well, what do you want with him?"

Pyro blinked innocently, elbows sticking out as he eased his hands behind his head. "Forgot his effects."

Bobby stared at him.

Pyro gestured. "Y'know, his little baggie full of some clothes, extra decks, thieving stuff, his music-"

"What kind of music?" Bobby demanded, suddenly interested as he let his charred jersey drop.

Pyro laughed, somewhat wildly, at last stopping and making a face. "Junk." Seeing Bobby's expression, he elaborated. "This twittery Krauss girl, Harry Connick Jr.- I hate the man, Gambit kept playing it when we were br- doesn't matter, some woman named Holiday, Armstrong, Sinatra-"

"Country and swing!" Bobby cried, horrified.

"Well, to be fair, 's'really lots of jazz," Pyro added, tilting the easy chair even further back.

"Nothing modern?" Bobby said, shaking his head.

Pyro shrugged. "It's criminal, I know. Y'know, he's never even heard of Olivia Newton-John?"

"Who?" Bobby said blankly, then quickly backtracked at the man's murderous expression and the sudden snapping forward of the chair. "Pulling your leg, man, I mean, that's just wrong. Everybody up here loves her. It's those dumb Southerners."

"Australia's South of here, mate."

"American Southerners, only, I mean. You're way aways from here. And, uh, you were willing to killing me so you can return Gambit's stuff?" the boy added somewhat indignantly.

Pyro looked surprised. "I'm pretty much willing to kill you anyhows. Plus, there's a bit more to it than that. He's only sometimes my chum, mate."

Bobby watched the man stand up, ice blue eyes flickering about the room. "Uh, so, nice meeting you?" he squeaked.

"Quite a delight, alright. I'm sure we'll run into each other again. Bound to happen, right?" He twirled the lighter between his thin, tanned fingers.

Weakly, Bobby nodded, and opened the door for him. Pyro reached out and pumped his hand. It was a struggle to keep from icing over the other's palm, just to see how he'd react.

Jauntily, Pyro stuck a cigarette in his mouth, not lighting it yet. He made a disgusted face as he headed out the door into the snow. "Ooh-de-lally, ooh-de-lally, golly what a day," he sang to himself, though his lips still held the cigarette in place. Without looking back, he waved to Bobby, who stood poised to freeze anything should Pyro decide to incinerate the house. After a long minute, he closed the door, rubbing his head in shock.

There was a soft cough from inside the room.

Bobby looked up. Part of the room was still smoking, and in a corner, his brother stood, mouth wide open.

Bobby took a deep breath of the air and tried not to choke as he inhaled a little bit of smog.

Ronny was still staring at him, not moving to take the opportunity to pound his brother on the back, and Bobby wondered how much he'd seen. Definitely too much, he decided from the expression.

"Enh," Bobby tried, "that was a bit queer, I suppose?"

His brother gaped.

"Queer as in the sense of uncanny, that is. Not in the other meaning, since if I already have some explaining to do it'd help if I didn't have to clarify any misunderstanding's there," Bobby added quickly, laughing weakly. "Heh heh heh," he choked out somewhat hysterically, or blink.

His brother didn't move, or show any sign of moving, nor did his mouth show any sign of closing.

"Uh… yeah. Heh heh heh."

'"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

"Bum a light?" a young man's voice suggested to a few of the pretty young girls sneaking a smoke outside a diner, completely ignoring their male companions.

He held out his cigarette, as they took in his scrappy clothes, cuts, trenchcoat, and rather dark hair which had been thoroughly blown straight up in waves which looked as if they might never fall straight again.

Unable to think of anything to say, and staring at his red-on-black eyes which made him look as if he might have stepped out of a badly taken photograph, the girl merely held out the lighter.

He took it, glancing over at a girl standing relatively nearby, just out from under the porch, staring up at the black sky with an exhilarated expression. Her hair, too, was likewise windblown, somewhat straight but mussed, clinging all about her face. He shook his head, handed the lighter back over to its owner, and sauntered back over to his traveling companion, blowing smoke out through a corner of his mostly closed lips.

Rogue stared at the crescent moon, the stars around it dim, though the constellation Orion was somewhat bright. The snow had stopped falling, leaving the cold but clear skies. Thin streaks of cloud stretched across it, and she leaned against the motorcycle, waiting. She was annoyed that he came back with a lit cigarette and not just confirmation the diner was safe to briefly stop at.

Silently, he stood next to her, following her gaze. With the perfection of experience, he casually drew the cigarette to his mouth and let the smoke sift into his mouth as he likewise drew breath. She glared at him.

He noticed, but didn't look over. "Not a word 'bout lung cancer, p'tite."

"Ah'm not petite. And ah wasn't going to say anything about that." She waited a beat. "Ah'm considering emphysema. An' second smoke. An' the matter of yah havin' a habit like that not bodin' well for yah overall character."

"Somebody addicted t' speed ain't one t' be criticizin' a fondness fo' cigarettes," he responded readily. "Can't blame me a smoke t' calm mon poor shot nerves, non?" He turned his head slightly more in her general direction. "What y' lookin' at, chere?"

"Don't call me that," she said immediately. "And at the sky, genius." There was the merest instant before she recalled his earlier comment. "Ah'm not addicted ta speed, either."

"Non?"

"Yeah, non," she responded defiantly, folding her arms.

He shrugged and drew the cigarette away from his mouth briefly, tapping a few of the ashes off."Fine, den. Guess y' not one fo' makin' small talk."

"Not large talk either, for that matter," she added, still not looking at him.

"Hmm. Seems that we still be chatting, t'ough. What d'ya make of dat, chere?"

Rogue didn't dignify that with a response, turning her face away from the smoke with a light cough.

He waited a moment, rather obnoxiously taking a long draw of breath to smoothly exhale a cloud of smoke. Enjoying her apparent discomfort as much as the cigarette, he didn't notice as the cigarette lit up in a bright, consuming reddish glow in his ungloved finger tips. "Diner's safe if y' exclude de hazard de food presents to a body," he said, letting his hand dangle as he paused to speak.

She gave him an annoyed look. "We can go in, then? We're wastin' time."

He flashed a grin at her. "Don't allow smokin' in dere, chere. Y' might want ta wait."

She opened her mouth to reply, but the sudden, small puft of explosion from the cigarette in his hand interrupted her. He dropped the burning bits of paper, wafting scents of tobacco, at once, cursing under his breath and waving his hand wildly in the air. It had left a smoldering hole in his glove and a patch of reddened skin.

"A first aid kit'd come in handy round yah," Rogue commented, watching him without much show of concern.

He looked up from his hand, eyes glinting. He jerked his head at the scrapes that littered her face, slight little marks of red or bright white against her pale skin, and those were only the visible injuries. "'Round us, chere," he said impishly. "'Round us."

"'Least it rid us of that thing," Rogue said, eyeing the cigarette's remains. "Can't hold one of those, how're yah gonna hold a sandwich, pray tell?"

He pointedly ignored her, grabbing onto her arm and beginning to steer her inside. Immediately, she yanked his arm off, eyes blazing. "Enough with the manhandling already!" Rogue spat, feeling like ripping his arms off.

"Most femmes don't mind bein' manhandled by Gambit," he told her, eyes winking with hard laughter.

She shoved him further away from her. "Don't tell me yah actually just referred to yahself in the third person," Rogue groaned, unable to believe this.

"Most femmes don't mind dat, eit'er," he said quickly.

"Yeah, well, most _femmes_ probably don't see past yah looks," she drawled, shaking her head at him.

"Ah, so y' admit dat I'm good-lookin'," Remy said, raising his eyebrows.

Rogue, having met enough cocky slimeballs in high school, didn't flush, put one hand on her hip and blatantly met his gaze. "Didn't say anything 'bout them bein' good, now, did ah? Have yah considered how much time we're wastin' here, anyhow?"

"Dodging the topic," he noted.

"So're yah," she countered. "Two, in fact. Yah powers, going inside, and Gawd knows what else. Unless yah hoping Belladonna'll catch up to us?"

He scowled. Slowly, he indicated his eyes. "Not big on crowds wit' dese out fo' all de world t' see, chere. An' besides, we not only got a real good 'ead start, but de t'ing 'bout bein' on de run, it's not a sprint. 'S a marathon. Y' not only gotta set a finish line, but y' got t' rest long de way. Sign bit back said dere's a motel up aways. We get some food, we'll crash dere fo' de night. An' work out some plans, non?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Who's gonna pay?"

His eyebrows rose still higher, and he shook his head ever so slightly. "Wouldn't trouble y' head o'er dat, chere. I got currency dat's good wherever y' go. Y' hit de ladies' room," he said, jerking a thumb, "an' I'll get us some food." He paused before turning towards the diner, though. "Why so concerned 'bout Belle, chere? She ain't de tracker, an' we went t'rough de woods."

Yeah, Rogue thought to herself, but there's a woman who can tell her exactly where we're going to be. She didn't know whether to tell him that, though, or how to, considering he'd probably drop her like a hot potato in that case, and right now, however much of a jerk he was, he knew what he was doing. Loathe as she was to admit it, she hadn't the faintest clue. Her indecision must have shown on her face.

He sighed, shaking his head, recognizing, as a professional liar himself, that there was something she wasn't saying. He couldn't fault her, though, there being many things he wasn't saying.

Rogue moved to head into the diner, but he stopped her. He gestured to the large, square bulge of the book partially sticking out the side of her bomber jacket. "Don' walk in dere wit' dat, chere. Dey'll t'ink y've stolen somet'in, wit' us lookin' de way we do. Last t'ing we need's more trouble, non?"

Her temper flared, but she forced it back, and with extreme, sullen reluctance, she drew it jerkily out, having wedged it in there quite tightly.

He held out his hand. "Here, give it t' me."

The look she gave him suggested that was unlikely.

Not wanting to bother with an argument, he, barely touching it, drew the side of his trenchcoat, which hung to his knees, open, revealing a lining filled with multiple, thin pockets, including a deep, wide one near the bottom. It gave her a clearer view, as well, of his shabby black shirt and scuffed black jeans, which had the look of being washed a few too many times. "Ot'erwise, y' can leave it sitting on the motorcycle," he suggested. His face betrayed no interest in the book, only annoyance.

It didn't take long to consider. She didn't trust him, but he had a point, and the book was extremely uncomfortable and dug into her side. She handed the book over, and Remy, without even looking at it, slid it into his trenchcoat, which, once loosely arranged again, rendered the rather thick book relatively invisible.

"Yah better not blow it up," she warned venomously.

Looking offended, he indicated himself innocently as if to say 'who, me?', then gestured for her to go first.

Rogue did, but slowed her step until she was next to him. Frankly, she didn't trust him, and didn't like exposing her back to him, even though she knew that was ridiculous. Neither was she eager to head to the bathroom, leaving him out of her sight, in possession of the book and the only one capable of starting the motorcycle up again, but, really, her choices were limited. She especially didn't like that it had been his suggestion, so she hustled back immediately.

He was on the pay phone when she walked out, which automatically gave her the urge to (try to) kick his ass. At once, though, Gambit looked up, beckoning her over, no trace of guilt or any sign of looking to hang up.

"Je fie vous remplira votre fin de l'arrangement.," he said rapidly in French as she drew near. He gestured a quick 'one moment' sign at her, handing her a doggy bag, rather box in a bag, full of something warm, which made her wonder suspiciously how he'd gotten it so quickly. "Bon. Vous avez un accord.." With a click, he hung up, giving her a wan grin.

"Who were you talking to?" she demanded, eyes narrowed and hands slightly curled.

"Mon cousin," he said readily, though with an unhappy expression. "Don't want anyt'ing t' do wit' mon… family, but he's up in Quebec. Canada. He's got some stuff I need. Meaning dat if y' don't have another destination in mind…"

She didn't have the slightest clue, but she wasn't going to tell him that, though she suspected, from his cocky expression, he knew. Noncommittally, she shrugged. "Quebec sounds fine."

He looked at something to the left, blinked, and quickly nodded. "C'mon, let's go," he said swiftly. "We move quick enough, it'll still be warm when we stop fo' de night. When's de last time y' slept, chere?"

On the train, she thought. For a bit. She wasn't keen on going to sleep again, either. "Don't talk to meh like ah'm twelve," she snapped as they walked out of the diner. "When's the last time _you_ slept?"

The bell chiming behind them, they stepped out quickly, as he responded, even as he nodded casually at the smokers, "I don' sleep."

Even though he'd hustled out of there at once, she still heard the phone explode and caught his wince. She gave him a very uneasy look as they rushed over to the motorcycle as a commotion arose inside. "It even safe to be around yah?" she questioned doubtfully, jumping on as he eased his leg over.

In answer, eyes hard, he whirled partway around, hand smoothly heading towards her cheek. Horrified, she grabbed it in desperation before his ungloved fingers touched her chin, swatting it away. She wished they hadn't tossed aside the stupid helmets, which had been custom made, one being too large, the other too small, and neither doing any good, since at least it would have covered her blush.

He nodded, expression hard, tight, and harsh. "Dat's what I t'ought."

"Yah got a death wish?" she shouted, angry at his stupidity and his confirmation of her own powers, as he revved up the motorcycle.

"If I do, so do y'," he muttered, pulling away with a screech before anyone thought to call in a bomb.

They didn't speak again until, several miles later, they spied a grungy looking motel with a blinking sign, including a few letters which didn't light up.

As soon as it was in sight, Remy swerved off the little road into the woodsy area, cutting the motor. He gauged the distance between the motel and the spot, and, satisfied, nodded. He extended a hand to help her off, which, as expected, she ignored, dismounting from the other side. Quietly, with Gambit directing their movements with gestures, they shoved it into hiding under branches, but in such a way it could be accessed and tear away with ease.

Rogue looked at him. "Somehow ah doubt we'll be payin' for a room."

He didn't even bother with an innocent look. "Right. An' somehow I doubt I'll be gettin' de sort o' female company I'm accustomed to at any point o' dis lil' vent- ouch!" he mumbled indignantly, red flashing in the dark as he glared. She'd socked him in the arm, quite hard.

"Stop wit' de hitting," Remy said, looking wounded. "Or I could easily get t' dislike y', chere."

"Then no comments," she hissed, looking apt to try to hit him again.

He made a face, beckoning her to follow him towards the motel. He moved like a cat, soundlessly emerging from the little patch of woods, while Rogue cringed as twigs crackled under her feet. "Y' jus' make it so easy," he complained, gaze flickering about, as he pointed out to her one sole security camera as they neared the building. The rooms were actually on the outside, the doors accessible by just heading up a long, straight staircase, and he looked disappointed at how easy it was. Then he noticed that the bottom of the stairs fell right under the security camera, and, heartened by this, began to ponder.

"Ah do not make it easy!" she insisted, keeping her step in time with his.

"Hmm, really?" he said absently. "Try dis one- y' an awful physical fille, chere, wonder-"

"Don't think about finishing that sentence."

"See? Easy." Considering the range of the security camera and rather than heading to the base of the stairs, he grabbed onto the railing, above his head, and swung himself over some scruffy little bushes up onto the stairs, soaring straight under the railing. She noticed that after standing, in perfect balance, he grabbed onto the railing again before turning to her, as if… she watched a faint flicker of light disappear from the railing as his hand latched onto it. He extended his hands down to her, leaning over, and with reluctance, she took them. The railing was too high for her to reach herself, even if she jumped. Without much difficulty, he yanked her up, pulling her under the stairs, and looked startled as intense pain flashed across her features. She grabbed onto her left shoulder, forcing the expression off her face. Rogue, looking at him, noticed the faintest trace of sweat was fading from his brow, definitely preceding him pulling her up.

Remy opened his mouth, poised to ask what was wrong, when Rogue, suspecting what he'd ask, whispered rapidly, "Got skewered. One guess whose knife." Her gaze flickered to the undamaged railing, but he didn't seem to notice.

He shook his head, a faint trace of sympathy, but not much, crossing his features. "Odds are de place has a hot shower," he recommended. "It'd prob'ly help."

"Yah'd know, ah suppose."

"Implyin' experience wit' motels o' wit' wounds, chere?"

"Figure it out."

They trotted quietly up the stairs, staring at the closed doorway. Remy considered each, stopping at last in front of 17, which he felt reasonably certain was unoccupied. He reached for his lockpicks, preferring finesse to force. It not being an electronic lock, it was a moment's work for him to receive the triumphant 'click'. He glanced at Rogue's unsurprised expression, and shook his head ruefully. "Should prob'ly have mentioned, I'm somet'in of a t'ief."

"Mah gosh, realleh?" she gasped, hand going to her throat.

"De sarcasm was uncalled for," he commented, gesturing to the dark room and flipping on a light. "Y' could stand t' be a little more impressed."

"If yah were ta say that while displayin' the Mona Lisa or the British crown jewels, then ah'd be impressed," she said wryly, looking at the dingy room without blinking.

Remy casually blew some drooping strands of hair out of his eyes. "Can't steal t'ings like dat, chere," he informed her, checking for ways out and finding only a dirty window in the back. He shut the door and pushed a chair in front of it, as well as the TV and its stand. "People notice. Y' can't get replacements."

"Yah're more than just a pickpocket or some petty thief." It was a statement more than a question, but Rogue was only guessing, having seen from Belle's memories he hadn't always dressed so shabbily.

"I _was_." He looked up, noticing her lowering the blinds before he had to.

"Ah never read about any big robberies. Ah'd hear about convenience store robberies and car thefts, but no…" she considered, grasping for a word.

"Heists," he suggested, and she nodded, looking at the bulky, old-fashioned heater. "Y' can turn dat on, the management won't notice till de bill's come." Instantly, Rogue flipped the heat up, all the way, waiting for the blast of cold air to become warm.

"Can we stay here?" she wondered. "Are we… able to stop?"

"After all dat ground we covered, we'd be dead if we couldn't get a few hours rest. Four, no more, sorry, chere. De motorcycle may be faster, but we can't sleep on it," he added, pulling his trenchcoat off and flopping on the dusky coach. He found a taped-up remote and flicked on the TV, a very bad, relatively soundless picture emitting. He just as quickly flipped it off.

"How come ah never heard of some big heist before? Or never heard 'bout folk getting assassinated?" she wondered, turning the hot water on in the bathroom. The shower, at least, was clean. Assuming it'd be a while before it warmed up, she walked back out. "Caldecott County's not far from New Orleans."

"We're 'too good' fo' y' t' hear 'bout our doings, chere."

"So yah're some kinda hotel burglar?"

He performed the difficult feat of choking on the air.

"Guess not," she responded, looking at his outraged, reddening expression.

"Y' know what dat is?" he demanded of her.

"Sure ah do. Ah read fiction, after all. They're supposed ta be the most successful thieves in the world, since their thefts are hardly ever reported," she said tartly, the run of the water providing background noise for their conversation.

"Well, dey are," he said sourly. "Don't suppose y' know why?"

She looked at him innocently. "Let's see, how did the book put it- handsome, dashing, good dancers- though typically older gentleman- an'-"

"I don't t'ink I want t' know the rest o' what y' book said," Remy finished, his face actually flushing a dark shade, looking somewhat angry. "Dem, dey're just glorified- well, dey're predators lookin' fo' nice, lonely, _old_ rich women wit' lots o' jewels- an' y' actually t'ought _I_- me, Remy LeBeau- was one o' _dem_!"

She looked at him, delighted she'd gotten a rise out of him and somewhat skeptical of his indignant state. "Yah've never once- not once- manipulated a woman to steal something from her?" Rogue wondered.

He looked for a moment as if he might sag, but didn't. "Once," he said tightly, his eyes full of fire. "Only the once."

Warmth was now beginning to steadily fill the room, from the heater and from the bathroom, beginning to steam. "Yeah? Then what were you? Not an embezzler, doubtfully a confidence man, not a counterfeiter of any kind, and probably not some kind of big heist fella y' see in the movies, which leaves-" Rogue tilted her head at him, "pretty much a cat burglar."

He rubbed his head. She was giving him a headache. "Pretty much. Dieu, what d' y' read?"

"Nothing happy," Rogue said calmly, unzipping her bomber jacket and eyeing the bathroom. "Water's not poisonous?"

"In all likelihood, no," Remy said, examining the scrape on his head in a dirt-covered mirror.

"All right, then. Ah'm lockin' the door. Don't yah dare pick the lock, or peek through the keyhole, or do anything obnoxious," she threatened.

"Not'ing dat'd make y' hit me, y'mean."

"In short, yes."

Gambit managed a glare at her. "Y' really don't t'ink much o' me. I'm not gonna peek in on some fifteen-year ol' brat, as if I'd peek in on any femme-"

"Sixteen," she countered, dangerously. She was used to being told she could pass for older, not younger. "And you're not one ta talk."

He looked up, sharply, offended. "I, at leas', can damn well drink," he insisted, adding, wisely, "Legally!"

She scoffed, shutting the door. "Yeah, maybe in Canada!"

"'M twenty-one!" Remy shouted through the door, fuming. He, too, was accustomed to people, particularly women, assuming he was older than he was. He instantly regretted it, not wanting to reveal any more about himself than absolutely necessary, and a difference of five years, give or take, was not about to afford him a great deal of respect. He then hoped they hadn't been too loud, because they last thing they needed was someone hearing their ages through the motel walls and calling the cops on him. It wouldn't be easy to explain that situation.

Rogue, a bit alarmed by the condition of the soap, shampoo, and the rest, rinsed herself quickly, at last getting the dried mud from her jump from the train thoroughly off her. She couldn't do much with her hair, and had no choice but to relatively leave it tangled, assuming it'd be dry by the time they left. At least, the towels seem clean, and she dried off rapidly, scrambling back into her clothes, however uncomfortable and dirty they might be.

She threw open the door to find Remy sprawled on the bed, trying to properly light a cigarette using only his powers to smolder them slightly, and with Destiny's diary, closed, propped on his chest, his fingers toying with the cover as he apparently debated whether or not to open it. Guiltily, he jumped as she exited, then at once regained his cool manner.

Rogue, glaring, snatched it away from him possessively.

"Little over-attached t' y' diary, chere," he observed, sitting upright, though still in a lounge position, one leg stretched out. "Only t'ing y' t'ought t' bring wit' y'?"

Shooting him furious looks, she continued tugging her fingers through her hair, and tossed him a sopping wet washcloth. "Ah wouldn't keep a diary," Rogue told him, scandalized, and at his clearly clueless expression as he picked up the washcloth in one hand and eyed it, explained with exasperation, "For your head!"

"Didn't know y' cared," he said, smirking, as he tossed it over his face, covering his features. Seriously, he then began to rub the cut, reopening it for the sake of avoiding infection.

"Here," she said gruffly, tossing him a partly rolled-up Neosporin and some Band-Aids which she pulled out of her pants pockets.

Surprised, Remy took them, looking up. "What d'y'know, y' good fo' somet'in."

She ignored that, rubbing her shoulder, then began to ball up her bomber's jacket like a pillow. Rogue looked at his position on the bed, and, very pointedly, stepped away and began to settle herself near the heater on the floor.

Chuckling slightly and brushing the remains of his cigarettes off, he got up and gestured to the bed. He looked twice at the grungy comforter and sheets, then ripped them off quickly, leaving the mattress. Stepping into the bathroom, he tossed several of the large, dry, surprisingly fluffy towels onto the bed. "Here," he said, in a rather annoyed way, gesturing dramatically and giving a fluid bow. "Yours. Mon Tante Mattie'd die jus' t' come an' haunt me if I let a fille take de floor in such a circumstance."

Her mouth quirked up in a slightly surprised manner. "Hmm. Chivalry may be dead, but the very thought o' Southern aunts can prod it into resurrection," Rogue commented, climbing onto the bed.

"Y' know a French word or two after all, chere" he said, less than impressed but managing to feign so.

She pulled a face at him. "Yeah, eighth grade French. Oui, bonjour, merci beaucoup, beaux… mere, pere, fille, homme, and… chere- which yah'd better not call meh again, since ah'm a far cry from a dear anything," Rogue added in a warning sort of voice. "Particularly ta you."

He only yawned.

"Y' should put y' boots back on," he warned her after a second, as he sat down by the heater. "'Case we ever have to leave in a hurry. Not comf'table, per'aps, but smart."

Thinking about that, Rogue at once began to yank her black hiking boots onto her socked feet, after knocking some of the mud off them.

"We'll need t' pick up some spare clothes," Remy told her, leaning his head back against the heat, the washcloth still to his forehead. He could use a shower himself, in a bit.

"And a toothbrush," Rogue added, arranging the towels on the mattress and leaving a few to pull over her. She grabbed the bomber jacket, as well, to use as a 'blanket'.

"Yeah, an' ot'er essentials."

"Ah wonder what yah find essential," Rogue said, suspicious of his tone of voice.

"Y'd be surprised." He waited a beat. "How long y' suppose this arrangement'll last?"

Uncomfortable with this turn of conversation, she looked over. "Anxious ta get rid of meh, huh?"

"May shock y', but no."

"Mah powers are useful ta yah, then."

"Mayhaps. Look, who's payin' enough t' get Belle after y'? Assassins… dey run errands fo' dangerous people. Politicians, usually. Who want y' so bad t' shell out that kind o' cash?"

Rogue looked at his serious expression. "Why's it matter?"

"No one can run forever." He looked at the ceiling. "No' even me. Sooner or later, yo'll have t' consider what'll make de folks get off y' back. Better t' start t'inkin now den when y' reach de end o' y' rope." He paused, and Rogue knew he was watching her, even though he seemed to be studiously examining a cobweb in the corner. "Who want y' dead?"

"Who wants you dead?" she countered immediately.

He resigned himself to the childish phrase, "I asked first."

"Ah… ah think she was sent ta bring meh back, but with no objections to killin' meh," she said slowly, lying back.

"Back?"

"Home," she said simply.

"Y' family…"

"Nah. Mah foster mother, Ahrene. She's…" Rogue hesitated. "She's a mutant, too. She tried ta drug me, n' then kill meh when that failed."

"Ah," he said softly. "When y' powers kicked in?"

"Yup."

"She rich?"

"Nope. But, mah other guardian… if yah could call her that… she might be. But Belle's not being paid," she said, frowning as she struggled to recollect it.

"Oh, dat's worse," Remy groaned. "Den it's a matter of integrity. Oh, no…"

"Yah know how ta cheer a girl up, all right."

She heard the sound of him running his hands through his hair, and shifting nervously. "Why're we havin' this conversation, anyways?" she wondered.

"'M makin' an effort to get along."

"We're getting along," she said immediately.

"No, we're no'."

"Sure we… oh. No, we're not," Rogue considered, eyes flickering closed. "Sorry. Ah seem to want to contradict anything yah say. Where were we… oh, right, who wants yah dead?"

"Don't know."

"Liar."

"Non, chere. Jus' a question o' not knowin' which o' de particular people who'd like ta see me dead is de one sendin' Sabretooth after me."

Rogue took this in, yawning. "Mmm-hmm. And what'd yah want at that school, Gambit?"

He looked up and over. "Same lady gave y' de bomber jacket tell y' dat?"

She didn't answer.

"Merde. Knew dey seemed government." He paused a moment to take this in, then returned to the question. "I demanded asylum. Dey told me t' get t' one."

If he was lying, which Rogue suspected, he was highly good at it, which she also suspected. He wanted something solid there. Something, in all likelihood, to get somebody large off his back.

There was a long, long pause in the dim room before Remy, clearing his throat, spoke up again, asking the question he had to ask. "What d'y' want out o' running, Rogue? Sounds like y' folks didn't want y' dead right away. Y' jus' wanted t' live, y' would have stayed."

Rogue took that question seriously, tired as she suddenly was, maybe because he'd used her name. She didn't really know. She wanted to help Cody, if she could, and she already had a feeling that she'd want the voices out of her head sooner or later. Freedom didn't really exist, did it? There were always limitations to it, and that would sound silly. Being normal… that wasn't quite right either. She didn't fit in as normal. She wasn't even good at trying. But then, she'd never had her chance to be normal in the first place, had she? She'd always been stuck wearing her gloves and been warned of dangers. She'd always been tied down by Irene's wishes and concerns. She wanted to travel, and she supposed there was a part of her that wanted adventure. Not dying, though. That wasn't good. And… there was a part of her that recognized she needed help. She'd had to come find Gambit, hadn't she? She'd had to rely on Cody's moves, and Belle's, and Bobby's.

She didn't want that. But she had to face facts. She wasn't tremendously tall, or strong, and her powers did her no good unless she could get close, and even then she was just borrowing the strength of someone else.

"Chere?"

"Self-reliance," she muttered at last. "Dumb question, Cajun. Better have an answer yahself, 'cause since y' had me answer, it's yah turn now. What's it yah can't find in New Orleans?"

He hesitated, though he knew the answer. "Peace," he said simply, at last.

Rogue, voice muffled slightly, murmured, "'M sure Sabretooth'd be glad t' oblige yah…"

Remy laughed for a minute at that, yet in a surprisingly sober way. "Man like me, chere, he ain't gonna find no peace in death."

He waited for her response, but got none. "Chere?" he asked softly, after a minute.

She was already asleep.

Sighing, he looked at his watch, and leaned back against the heater, rubbing his neck. He had too many bruises. He should probably take his own advice and take a hot shower, though hopefully it wouldn't wake her.

That was probably why, in an hour or so, with the water running, he didn't hear the screech of a shiny black car pulling up in front of the motel, or the sound of high heels hitting the pavement.

Along with the sound of a crossbow being loaded.


	7. All's Fair

A/N: I can't believe how long it took me to finally write this. I usually manage to write on the weekends, but I've been swamped with unbelievably random and insane events and haven't had a spare moment to sit down and write until today, though I had been getting about ten sentences in here and there. And, in honesty, I really shouldn't be writing this. I should be studying for the SAT, which I haven't even looked at yet and it's on Saturday, or catching up on homework. But I'm not, since it kills me not to write as much as it kills me not to read. Oh, I went through a whole shipment of library books, too, including some X-Men graphic novels, so that's partly responsible too. I read so many Terry Pratchett books it's surprising this didn't come out Monty Python-esque. But, anyways, once this next crazy week or so is over I'll be able to write more. I've been aiming for weekly, but I missed last week by a longshot. Anyway, apologies, and I hope you like this since I had fun writing it. Though I hope it doesn't seem redundant. But, even if it does, the plot'll be majorly twisting sometime soon, so that's okay. This chapter was just screaming to be written. Anyway:

**enchantedlight**- Hmm, I suspect this update wouldn't be considered soon… thanks for continuing to review!

**abril14**- glad you like long updates, since I tend towards that, though this, admittedly is shorter than most, though I got across everything I wanted to in this chapter. Your wondering'll be answered very, very shortly. Remy really deserves a rest, I know. He's not really going to get one. Though he did get his shower. For all the good that's going to do... anyway, thanks for reviewing!

**Mrs. Rogue LeBeau**- thank you for your review and compliments, especially the ones in capital letters! And, yup, it is. Like a bad penny, there's no getting rid of some people so easily. Interesting speculation on injuries…. Yeah, Rogue would definitely have trouble hotwiring a bike unless she absorbed someone with the know-how, of course… but I'm not going to be too terribly cruel to them.

**ishandahalf- **Poor you, being that tired- and sleeping on floors! Hmm, same situation Remy found himself in. Yet you still found time to read and review my story? Golly gee. I doubt I'd manage that. And I like the word droll. It's a fun word, particularly when drawled out. Yeah, Pyro's off his rocker. But he's so much fun! Yeah, crossbow- my little cousin's really into archery right now, and it turns out they're not only super dangerously scary now and easy to fire but a piece of cake to get. He wants one. He's eleven. He'll never, ever get one or I'll hightail it out of state. And the gerbil next door stole the bunny's crack, it's all his fault. Anyway, always glad to see your review, thanks a lot, and plus I was thrilled to see you have a new story up, yeah!

**Neurotic Temptress**- hey! I was very impressed you read my story, since I'd just been reading several of yours, which were really good and funny and it's always fantastic to find a bunch of great stories like that, since I seem to spend half my time on the prowl for good reading material. I play catch-up with fic tons. One of the first stories I ever read on fanfiction was under Harry Potter and had about 99 long chapters, which I dutifully read only to find it wasn't done yet! It's a startling experience. Anyway, sorry for the stall on Ch.7. Insanity abounds. And teachers who like to give homework and projects and tests all on the same day. And thanks lots for the compliments on my plot, though that's partly because it tends to take over and spiral in all kinds of directions it wasn't expected to in the mind-stages. I have to make it sit down and behave. And, god, I really do love to write- thank you so much for your comments on that, I appreciated it immensely. And on that note, I really appreciated the criticism as well. I need that. Yeah, I checked on the comma thing. See, I tend to breeze through them when I read them, and I suppose it is just my style. Though I tried to cut back on a few, but that tends to mean more periods, which is even more of a break. Yeah, the passport thing, I'll have to amend that- I didn't mean the ticket taker forgot to check hers, just that she was glad she wouldn't need one- but really, that was me, being clueless and having only just picked up you need only money, period, for a train ticket- which surprised me, especially with the crazy security they have these days. And I'll amend coach to couch as soon as I have the time. In typing this chapter, I noticed I made the same mistake for no apparent reason. I can't figure it out. But, thanks again for your review!

**Purity Black**- Wow! You reviewed my story, yeah, which I appreciate especially because I really like your story And I Feel Fine, very much! (Case you couldn't tell). Glad you liked my view of Belladonna (I just like spelling her name better that way, though I know it's actually Bella Donna in the comics, but that doesn't look as good to me), since she's fun to play around with, since, she is, after all, an assassin and Dangerous, plus I needed her to seem real, with motivation and all, not plastiky. So, glad you seem to think I succeeded. And I had a difficult time figuring out the way I wanted to tell chapter 2 in, so I'm glad that went over well- yup, I read the comics as much as possible, and Cody got off a little too easy in Evolution, making Rogue's angst a little more difficult to rationalize. But thanks again!

**Heather**- Hope some of your questions'll be answered in this chapter, and they'll see Logan… sooner or later, thanks greatly for your review!

**UncannyAsianGirl**- Ah, your review was greatly appreciated. Have to admit, I was kind of waiting for it to see what you'd think of my chapter. Sorry I didn't answer quickly, but I seem to have trouble properly responding to reviews until I'm done with a chapter, so I'm nearly done with my response and will send it out as quickly as possible, but definitely don't go thinking I forgot you! I'm just pressed for time and getting kicked off my own computer. And thanks so much for recommending my story! I should just make you my official promoter. Again, thanks!

**P.S**.: If anyone notices a distinct lack of French in this chapter, that's just 'cause I ran out of time, though I really did intend to use it in some places. Sorry for that.

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Some claim dreams are the garbage of the mind, the product of the unresolved problems and scrapped thoughts of the day. Irene would have disagreed with the theory, but Rogue fully subscribed to it. It would explain why her current dream was full of jukeboxes with large teeth playing Creole tunes because a certain annoyance kept putting cards into the slot to make them play. The jukeboxes were circling a small table, at which many people were seated. Most had their faces in shadow, saving a few. The Cajun, sitting a few seats over, handed something to Cody- or was it Bobby? the features kept shifting around a pair of blue eyes- who gleefully placed them in Rogue's hands. The two dolls of cloth with the shape and features of Barbie dolls bore great resemblance to Ms. Darkholme and Irene. Carrying on a conversation that she couldn't hear the words of with the woman who'd given her the bomber jacket, Rogue carelessly plunged a pin into the two of them again and again. Two figures at the table toppled over backwards and began writhing on the floor. The cards Gambit had dealt them skittered back towards his hand. He promptly fed them to a jukebox, which began to spurt a constant stream of water that turned slowly into ice as it pooled on the floor. A minute sled skittered down it.

Cody- it was now definitely him - watched with her antics with the slim piece of metal with an uncharacteristic blank expression, and tapped her shoulder. She turned. For a moment Rogue was uncertain whether she was looking at a grimy ceiling or at his hazy features, but then the dream was back full force. The table was now somewhere about the regions of the ceiling, as were the chairs. The jukeboxes bobbed around them. A large pink coat attempted to jump at her from out of nowhere, but one of the jukeboxes snagged it and started to chew before it reached smothering range. Someone with purple hair handed her a miniature sword to decapitate the dolls with, but Cody intercepted it.

Indignant, she turned to him, but he was disintegrating into nothingness. Instantly, he evaporated completely. Gambit caught the tiny sword before it hit the ground, shrugged, and dangled it over a doll of Belladonna. This doll was actually moving and screaming.

Rogue tried to grab the sword back to get Irene first, but he refused to let go, eyes flashing as a tug-of-war ensued. He opened his mouth to say something, from his expression probably an obscenity, but only a soft click emerged. Although quiet, it echoed ferociously in her mind as Gambit and several of the others fading, leaving only those she actually had absorbed. They all seemed to be reaching for a piece of her, their faces drawn and vampiric to an extent that alerted some small corner of her mind that this was a dream, not the actual psyches. It all seemed real though, even the clustering jukeboxes with snapping jaws seeming valid although out of place.

Her arms windmilled as she tried to back up from them, and suddenly she was in a sea of darkness with bellowing voices rising and then fading in her mind.

Brow scrunched in confusion, she tossed and turned right off the bed. With a hard, distinctive thud, she landed on the floor. Head throbbing with unfinished sleep, she muzzily watched a crossbow arrow bury in the pillow her head had rested upon mere seconds before. It twanged innocently back and forth, stuffing pouring out the opening in the pillowcase that was now firmly pinned to the bed.

Rogue's eyes opened wider as she found herself looking straight up at a too-familiar blonde woman with a pistol crossbow cocked and aimed directly at her heart. The soft click she had heard in her dream sounded again as Belladonna locked another bolt into place.

She blinked rapidly, unsure whether she was still asleep, but determining that the towel her hands were tightly wringing felt too real, she flung the white fluffy thing directly at the face of the woman before her. She squirmed into the tight space under the bed, on her side so as to get all her body in at once. A bolt embedded itself instantly behind her with a twang. She thought at first it was in the floor, but as she yanked her leg forward, Rogue realized with some horror that it stuck out of the leather bottom of her boot. It had very narrowly missed her foot. She scowled as she tried to figure out where to go from here, realizing she'd just put herself in a lousy, not to mention dusty position. Damn. She was awful fond of the boots. And her life, for that matter.

Her back was firmly up against the springs of the mattress, and it hurt to move. This space wasn't designed to be crawled under. She edged over as far as she could as a bolt was shot lazily after her, perfectly aimed straight underneath the bed. Rogue's eyes followed it with horrified fascination as it skimmed past her to hit the wall. It bounced off, the end of it whacking lightly against her.

"Gambit!" she shouted furiously in the direction of loudly running water and to make matters worse, rather loud singing. There was the slightest intake of breath from above her, and a set of heels became visible as they stalked to one side of the bed. Rogue eased herself to the other end. "Hey! Gumbo! Your girlfriend wants her stuff back!"

As Belle lifted the bed skirt hanging over the end, preparing clearly for a killing shot, Rogue scrambled out from under the bed in a desperate attempt to get out of range. She kept tumbling in a clumsy somersault, knowing surely that Belle would stand and hit her now and thinking it best her vital organs remain protected. Since the woman wasn't making small talk, she doubted the assassin had a friendly kidnapping in mind and thought it prudent to try to protect the soft spots which would bleed most readily. Still, she would have been hit _somewhere _had not, at that moment, the bathroom door slammed open.

Both women froze.

"What de hel-" he cut off, staring at the completely dust-covered Rogue, turned entirely the color of a pale moth, and Belle, who seemed to have forgotten she held a crossbow in her hand.

Dripping wet, his hair looked almost black as it clung to the planes of his shocked face. It fell into his eyes, concealing whatever their expression might have been. He stepped back a bit, clutching the soaking towel he had wrapped around his waist as a drowning man would a life preserver. The ever-present smirk was completely wiped from his face, and his mouth parted slightly in a surprised little 'o'. It softened his expression, giving him a confused, boyish look that didn't quite suit him but looked nevertheless not in the least out of place. Rogue tried, immensely annoyed with herself, to train her eyes on potential exits or barricades, rather than on the thin sheet of water sending small rivets of rain down his toned frame. She succeeded with little effort, hurling herself behind a small circular table and knocking it down to duck behind in the time it took for either Remy or Belle to regain any semblance of composure.

A few too many years of finding himself in a rather similar situation with the young woman before him now in an angry state took over Remy's mouth before his mind caught up. "Look, dis isn't what it looks l-" He remembered in time to jump behind the door, slamming it as two bolts at once thudded into it.

Rogue, sheltered behind the table, looked for a projectile to hurl. Spying one of Remy's boots, she chucked it over the tiny table with a mere peek over. Naturally, Belle side-stepped. Her features, whatever emotions they might conceal, had gone, carefully, studiously blank.

Without so much as a blink, she cocked the small crossbow. It was far from the wooden mechanisms of medieval times. Rather, it seemed to be made of some kind of high-quality plastic or something, and was colored in the army camouflage tones so often favored by hunters. It fired almost silently, Rogue noticed with dismay, and awfully quick.

_You don't wanna mess with that_, a voice noted in the back of her head suddenly. Rogue recognized it as Cody's. _That's a pistol crossbow. Not for hunting deer, that. Up close and personal. And yah don't even need a license to get one. _

Rogue ignored it. Her heart rate was high enough without voices in her head stressing her out more. If Bobby piped up, she'd be tempted to bash her own head out. Partly to deny Belladonna any satisfaction she might gain from doing so. "Gambit! Get back here!" she yelled, lifting the table slightly to snag the arrow which would have darted directly over it to get her.

Belle rolled her eyes. "Here dat, cher?" she called mockingly, as she swung her crossbow to train on the door her might emerge from, alternating between shooting casual shots at Rogue. "De lil' river rat t'inks y' some kinda hero. Guess she doesn't know what kind o' batard y' are, hmm?"

A smoldering card slid under the door as a response, heading directly towards Belle. Expertly, she shot an arrow into it, tearing it. It exploded in a burst of flame before it even neared her. Rogue, not in the slightest surprised, blew a still damp strand of white out of her eyes as Belle began to laugh. She wondered how close she could get before the woman shot her. On consideration, as the woman clicked another bolt smoothly into place, Rogue doubted she could manage to stand straight before receiving a pleasant little dart from Cupid over there.

"Oh, you'll talk ta him but not ta meh," Rogue called sardonically from behind her pitiful shield. "Awful polite, that. What am ah, chopped liver? Yah think-" She cut off in time to dodge a bolt which thudded into the wall behind her, then picked up again in a forced tone, "that yah'd pay a bit more attention to the gal yah're meant to kill." Under her breath, she muttered, "An' if yah sneakin' out a window, Remy LeBeau, ah'll hunt yah down ta the very ends of the earth, whether ah'm dead or alive."

Belle scoffed slightly. "Y' not even worth de time o' day t' me, girl. De swatter don't make conversation wit' de fly."

"If she's realleh bored she might!" Rogue shouted back, relieved at the slight pause in firing of bolts. She wondered how many the woman had, and what other weapons could be, literally up, her sleeves. Peeking over, Rogue noted with a wry note that Belle, naturally in all black, had gone for a black jacket of some sort of jeans material with multiple pockets, a really short black shirt and sheer black stockings. And she swore that was a touch of shiny lip gloss. This was a little too scary to comprehend, but obviously she wasn't dressed to kill just to take out Rogue.

"An' y' don' strike me as a 'femme' with a particularly active social life!"

"It isn't my company y' should be concerning y'self wit'," Belle suggested, eyeing the door skeptically. "Y' don't have de slightest grasp 'bout who y' new boyfriend is. T'ings he's done. Ask him about Paris, why don't y'."

Rogue considered, then noticed that while Belladonna was speaking, she'd been coming closer. One more step or two, and she could just lean over and hit Rogue right between the eyes. "Remy! Have yah gone and drowned or are yah too much of a co-"

The door blew up. Before the smoke finished expanding, much less cleared, a shadowed figure had lunged from within to tackle the assassin in an attempt to wrench the crossbow from her grasp.

Rogue poked her head up, as Belle screeched in frustration as Gambit tried to pin her hands to the floor. She threw him off, springing upright without the use of her hands and trained the crossbow at his head. Grinning, he tossed a card at her, then neatly tumbled swiftly in Rogue's direction. He tilted his head at her, eyes flashing as they caught the light under his sopping wet hair. "Hurt?" he asked her mildly.

"What in tarnation took yah so long?" she growled in response, hurling his other boot at him.

He took on a defensive expression. "Y' have any idea how difficult it is fo' a body t' get a pair o' pants on when a body's soppin' w-" He spun around in time to narrowly clap his hands together on a dagger heading straight at him. Somewhat shocked, he dropped it with a self-satisfied expression. It faded when he noticed the spreading fire from the explosion of the door, and Belle, hair tumbling out of its neat twist in static strands, advancing towards him with a deadly expression.

"Get de bike," he told Rogue out of the side of his mouth, tugging on the boot she'd thrown at him and with his eyes fixed on the other.

She stared at him with supreme annoyance. "How, dumbass?"

Pained, he considered. "Get outside, den. Y' in de way."

She opened her mouth to angrily retort, but he was shouting something in French to Belle that made her run towards him in what seemed to be an angry charge. Gambit, startled, began to charge cards which seemed to magically appear in his hands, but was thrown off further when she flipped over his head. The crossbow was jabbed against his back, but both had momentarily forgotten Rogue. At once, she shot her leg out, tripping Belle up and sending the crossbow bolt into the ceiling. Although she regained her balance at once, it allowed Gambit time to throw a hesitant punch that collided viciously with her cheekbone. The assassin, to her credit, hardly even staggered.

"Go!" Gambit shouted over the background noise of Belle's insults and the growing crackle of a small fire. "Wait fo' me outside!"

Rogue, stumbling upright, shot him a glare as she poised to sprint. He was trying to get his hands on Belle's crossbow, presumably to blow it up. "Yeah? An' if it's not you who walks out?"

Belle managed a rather nasty grin in her direction at that, before serving Gambit a headbutt. He clutched his nose, then rammed his open palm against hers. He pulled back enough for a spinning kick aimed at her throat that unfortunately missed.

"Den good luck!" he shouted at her as she raced towards the door, taking advantage of the moment. She paused only to snatch her bomber jacket and his trenchcoat from the couch.

Once outside the door, she didn't race down the stairs towards the motorcycle as he probably anticipated she would. Instead, Rogue hung about the door, dark green eyes intent. She wasn't about to miss this, nor was she about to be caught unawares. She delved into the pockets of his trenchcoat, hoping to find some form of weapon beyond just cards and cigarettes.

"C'mon," she muttered, shaking a card pack empty but for the Jokers. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, she chucked it over her shoulder without even pausing to check the brand.

Gambit was very carefully backing up towards the bed, eyes wary as he charged a card and Belle yanked knives from what seemed to be a very full utility belt. He looked her up and down. "De stilettos are overkill, don't y' t'ink?" he asked calmly, ducking one knife and hurling himself across the bed to crash on the other side to avoid another.

Smiling in the way that always scared him a little, Belle kicked one shoe off, catching it smoothly and popping the heel right off. From the long, thin heel she withdrew a shorter, thin dagger.

He blinked as he propped his head up on the bed. "Forgot dat penchant of yours." Springing up, he threw one and then the other, but Belle and he had spent too many hours sparring for her not to see that coming. The dagger pierced the card, both exploding in a burst of shattering light that forced Remy to cover his rather sensitive eyes with his wet sleeve and lean back to avoid shards of metal. It bought her the time to lunge forward with another small dagger in a forward spear thrust to his stomach.

Automatically, his hands shot together and in front of him, forming an X-block which caught her hands and caused a shadow of a butterfly shape to appear on the opposite wall as the flicker of fire from the corner lit their fight. He reached to clasp his hands around hers and force her to drop the knife while hopefully breaking a few fingers in the process, but with slippery agility she slid her hands back. The dagger clanged to the floor, but her stocking foot swept it into the air and back into her hand just as Remy pulled his arm back.

Belle's right hand rocketed forward in a perfect punch towards his chin, but he stopped it with an in-block by sweeping his forearm down and parallel to his body. He lunged closer with a hook from his left, but she ducked and swept his legs out from under him as she used the floor as leverage for an extremely low spinning kick.

Toppling backwards, he tucked himself into a backwards somersault and sprang up, reaching for another card in his sleeve. Unfortunately, he remembered the rest were tucked in his trenchcoat, so Gambit settled for a roundhouse kick at the approaching Belle. Straight blonde hair brushed against his face as the assassin knocked it aside with a sharp block to her left.

The thief recovered his balance by letting the force of the hit to his leg carry him immediately all the way around. Planting his foot firmly, Remy turned his head to look at her from the body angle giving her the least opportunity to hit possible. "Just like de good old days, non, Belle?"

Her hands curled back and she shot the hard flats of her fingers toward his throat in a cobra strike. He leaned way back to dodge it, having to drop all the way down to the floor to avoid the knee she aimed at his family jewels. "Which ol' days would dat be, LeBeau?" she spat at him, bending to strike at his face in ridiculously fast movements as he rolled to a crouch. "De ones when y' ran around on me? Stole from m' family an' made a fool out o' me? Or de days after y' took mon frere away, hmm?"

"Delicate way of puttin' it," he told her, aiming a heel kick at her and withdrawing it just before she managed to snatch it and trip him up. His red eyes followed the gaze of her blues, which had ticked over to where the crossbow had glided across the floor. He grabbed her wrist before she managed to stretch over to it. "Plannin' t' have me send 'em y' best in hell?" he asked bitterly.

Furiously, she aimed a strike at his damning eyes. "Ain't dat where de devil belongs?"

His stare burned into her as she tried to leverage his strength against him to flip him. "It is said t' be de den o' murderers," he offered flippantly, looking at her pointedly as she failed to manage it. He'd learned too much about her style from their sessions on the mats in what seemed like ages ago.

"And thieves," she hissed, but before she even finished speaking she's stepped her leg straight against his, pushing back into a flip. Remy's arm would have been wrenched and probably broken at the same time by this move had he not at last hurriedly released his grip on her wrist.

Just outside, Rogue was having difficultly properly snapping out the thin cylinder of metal she'd found tucked in the trenchcoat. She cursed quietly at it as she threw her hand down once more, hoping it would snap out. It didn't. Annoyed, she lifted the bo staff. She was vaguely familiar with them, having been taught the primaries of the use of a wooden one on one of many of Ms. Darkholme's instructive visits. She knew some of them could unscrew or snap out but couldn't seem to find the mechanism. Rogue hit it against the wall in desperation, half-expecting it to snap out. She gave up and poked her head through the doorway, figuring she'd wasted enough time. Remy and Belle were countering each other blow for blow, she noted, with more fluidity and a hell of a lot more fury than she herself had fought Belle with.

"Gumbo!" she called loudly. Distracted, his head jerked over, interrupting the rhythm. Belle, her hand luckily empty of any knife, socked him in the nose. Furiously, he shot a glare at Rogue while clutching at the blood and shouting, "By dose!"

Rolling her eyes, Rogue tossed the unextended bo staff into the room. Remy's eyes followed it, looking at her with an annoyed expression when it passed by him and then an ever-so-vaguely amused one as it managed to hit a surprised Belle in the head. He lunged forward to grab it. With the touch of some unseen button, it snapped out.

Immediately he drew it back in a cross-strike from over his shoulder and whapped Belle in the nose. Drawing it back, he turned it to strike straight across her side, but Belle ducked. The whish of it passing through the air could be heard even over the now-slightly larger fire crackling over the wood near the bathroom entrance.

Springing onto the bed and using it to propel herself over his head, Belle reached for something at her belt but suddenly found herself shoved against the wall by the force of the horizontally held stick and very close behind it, Gambit.

"Y' sweating, chere," he told her in a tone of voice that wasn't very friendly.

Her hands seemed to be pinned against the wall, but that didn't lead him to relax his guard any. Remy LeBeau had been many things, but he doubted he'd ever been naïve. "Vous l'imaginez," she assured him venomously as he roughly pushed his staff against her shoulders. "Sorry, cher, y' not _dat_ good."

His features stayed though his gaze hardened even more, despite the darkly wet hair falling into his eyes. "Never had any problems wit' performance b'fore-"

"Oh mah Gawd!" Rogue's voice snapped impatiently from the doorway. "The wicked witch of the South's trying ta kill yah and yah makin' innuendos? Jeeesus Chr-"

"Knock dat off!" he yelled at her without taking his eyes of Belle's hands, which were held back in mock surrender. "Wasn-"

Belle's legs shot up and back as she immediately skidded down the wall. She kicked back to strike him hard in the stomach, sending him flying back with a distinctive oof. Her hands dropped to her belt and came out twirling what looked like miniature bo sticks. She twirled them, crossing them together with the skill of practice.

"Ah, not de kendo sticks," Remy groaned, planting his bo and leaning his weight against it to come elegantly back to his feet. He managed a mock bow before countering her simultaneous strikes from above and below with a quick spin of his long staff.

The clatter of metal against metal rang out as they slashed at angles at each other, both glaring fiercely from behind their bloody noses, which ever so often they had to pause to attempt to wipe. Rogue, meanwhile, was counting how many cards Gambit had left with some concern where she leaned in the doorframe and methodically dropping his cigarettes over the railing behind her. The night was terribly dark, and no one had yet come to see what the noises were. She suspected the clientele of this place might be accustomed to such scenes, or were just following the age old sensible policy of keeping their noses out of other people's business.

Something blew up with a terrible sound, and she looked up in time to duck shards from one of the kendo sticks. A few bits of shrapnel scraped her here and there, but Belladonna was scraped all across her face and hands and looked absolutely fervid with anger about it.

She held the other kendo stick like a club and brought it down at his head. "Y' idiot!" she screamed. "Y' know how expensive dese t'ings are!"

Remy nimbly dodged, face darkened and eerie in the red glow now surrounding a portion of the room. "Yes!" he shouted at her in return, spinning the bo staff in a rather useless but showy figure eight to keep her at a distance and knock her hands aside. "Damn well bought 'em for y', didn' I?"

She took that in consideration and then hurled a smoke bomb from her belt at his face.

He shut his eyes and waited, listening carefully and turning the staff slowly in a defensive manner. Something brushed against his foot, but he kicked it aside and it shot towards the door. Remy heard a slight cough and rapped Belle hard in a smooth stroke across the back. "Dat wasn' very bright," he informed her tightly. "Seein' as I'm awful comfortable wit' smoke."

There was a slight scraping sound at the door, followed by a low whistle.

"Tol' y' t' go, Rogue," Gambit sighed, then leaped back as through the smoke a figure brought a recovered dagger at his throat. Shrouded by dusky smoke, Belle's slow smile made him gulp ever so slightly, drawing a pinprick of blood at his throat as he did so.

His reflexes were excellent, Remy knew. He also knew his throat would be cut twice over before he'd ever get his staff up to knock it aside, and she'd be expecting him to try to pull something like falling limply backwards because that was what he'd always done in such situations under more playful circumstances. He tried to think fast.

Wavering at first, another figure became apparent as she moved slightly into the room. "'Scuse meh," Rogue said politely. There was a soft clicking sound as a crossbow was loaded. "But ah think the shoe's on the other foot at the moment."

The dagger neither wavered nor lowered. Belle's pretty face twisted in an unpleasant sneer. "Lil' filles shouldn' play wit' toys dey don't understand."

The still hazy figure bent to pick up something on the ground, coughing slightly. There was a sudden, more menacing click as she apparently must have managed to ease another bolt in, something of an advanced trick. "You'll find ah'm full of surprises," Rogue responded, voice made slightly more raspy by the smoke. "Merci, sugah. This is an awful shiny toy. What'd it run, two hundred, three?"

Remy eyed the knife at his throat, then Rogue. He would have laughed, had he not felt certain Belle would have readily dragged the dagger across the neck of which he was very fond if he did. Since she hadn't yet, he assumed she didn't hate him as much as she thought she did. Which, really, wasn't much comfort.

"Y' really t'ink y' gonna fire dat?" Belle asked incredulously. "An' risk hitting y' new friend?"

Rogue shrugged, becoming more clear as the residue from Belle's little surprise cleared but the haze from the growing fire becoming more apparent. "Everybody's gotta die sometime an' according ta you, his is up. So it doesn't really matter one way or the other, does it? Actually, he might thank meh if ah miss yah- mah way's prob'ly faster."

"Don't discuss my death as if I'm not in de room!" Remy hissed, having tried to raise his staff only to find another dagger pointed in a place that made him hope she'd slice his throat instead of the lower spot.

Rogue ignored him. "Point bein', yah think ah care? Ah'm on the run, you've stabbed me once more than ah'd like already, the weather royally sucks, an' mah hair could very well dry in ringlets. Lady, if ah was you, ah wouldn't mess with me."

Remy would have shaken his head had not such a movement cut his throat. Belladonna stifled a laugh, but Rogue stayed silent this time, bow held level.

The assassin cleared her throat delicately. "Then, it seems we're at an impasse," Belle said smoothly.

Rogue smiled pityingly. "If you think that, you're really not as familiar as you should be-"

She fired perfectly into Belladonna's left shoulder, sending her staggering back with what was nearly a screech and taking her a few necessary steps back from Gambit, "with _mah_ so-called family."

In a flash Belladonna had daggers in her hand again as they shot from her jacket sleeve and hurled them at Rogue before the girl could even blink. Gambit, instinct and the little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Tante Mattie forbidding him her gumbo ever again, dove forward as fast as his reflexes would allow.

They were shot low, because Belladonna knew Rogue would instinctively duck, which of course she did. Gambit, practically flying vertically, knocked one aside and felt it cut into his hand; the other, however, propelled forward and past his grasping figures. He heard a gasp from Rogue but couldn't look. Belle was through playing games and holding back, and now he'd really have to step it up. Where the hell were his cards when he needed them?

Belle lunged forward, hands slashing almost too quickly for him to follow. Ignoring his scraped hand, he flipped backward. His eyes glanced desperately for his bo staff, which he'd dropped when he'd gone for the daggers. Spotting it in the growing fire, he grabbed it. He squinted in pain, tossing the heated metal stick from hand to hand as Belle returned, unsheating from the deepest pocket of his jacket what he knew to be her last pair of. He recognized these blades at once. They were her favorites, and the last time she'd used them, one'd been spilling blood from a wound narrowly close to his heart. They were supposedly tipped with admantium and had been a gift from her father for sweet sixteen. He believed it, as it had cut straight through his bone.

He almost opened his mouth to comment, but didn't. The time for talking was long done. He tilted the bo back across his shoulder and slung it down in a gesture that seemed easy but was truly vicious. She scraped the blades along it, producing a grating sound.

Remy, keeping his staff locked, withdrew one hand with the speed of a thief to tug ferociously on the length of her hair. Her head jerked involuntarily back, but her hand came back almost as swiftly. His own calloused palm, clutching a thick hank of blonde hair of lighter and darker tones, was back on the staff by the time her dagger reached its former spot. He tossed a vicious half-grin off the side of his mouth.

"Diable," she taunted distractingly, whipping one dagger around to narrowly avoid his arm. "Some hero, non?"

He jerked the staff straight forward, forcing his own chin back to avoid the returning opposite end. The bo struck her squarely between the eyes, though, throwing her off.

Her kick came up precisely, clipping his chin and hurling him back against the wall. Hooking her elbow around it, she ripped the bo out of his grip. His palms stinging, Remy countered her strikes as best he could with his forearms, but was unprepared for her to leap up. Hooking her legs around him, she shoved him back against the wall. Her daggers curved behind his ears and her knees pinned him tightly back and limited his leg movement. His earlier bruises weren't helping any, either. The lock seemed innocent enough, but her elbows curved around each arm, preventing them from moving anywhere.

Her wrists resting on his shoulders, she leaned close with flashing blue eyes. His breath was coming more quickly than hers, and he was plainly out of energy. Sullenly, his head banged back against the wall from her weight.

"Goodbye, Remy LeBeau," she said in a tone equal parts satisfied and regretful. Her blue eyes danced with the thrill of a predator. "Il y avait un temps quand je vous ai aimé plus que la vie lui-même," she told him softly, with the faintest hint of lingering emotion.

"Once upon a time, non, Belle?" he said flatly, voice betraying nothing but a slight crack in tone.

"Oui, cher. Adieu."

His eyes were on something else as she moved her daggers closer. "Belle…" he muttered in what seemed to be a whisper or a groan.

She paused, her head cocking the slightest margin.

He met her gaze harshly, red blazing against black. "Y' ought t' know better den t' wear nylons."

At this, she looked down at her black sheer stockings glowing a devilish shade of pinkish red, giving him time to shove her off him. Dropping to the floor, she scrambled to get them off as quickly as she could manage, but she wasn't fast enough.

She screamed as the explosion seared her creamy skin, not devastatingly but painfully. The daggers tumbled from her hands as she let out a soft whimper, falling to the ground.

Regretfully, Remy picked up the bo staff, face blank, and almost gently, knocked her mercifully out. His gaze fell on her form, looking for all the world like a crumpled doll, emotions hidden. "Wish 'twere so easy t' talk in de past tense fo' me, Belle," he muttered under his breath, before with a start remembering. Dropping the bo staff with a clang, he scrambled over to the fallen girl by the door and nearly tripping over the fallen crossbow. He bent, patting her cheek as carefully as he could with his fingerless gloves.

"Hey, chere," he said quietly, shaking her slightly and trying to clear the bundle of trenchcoat and bomber jacket she clutched tightly off so that he could find the wound. "Hey, pretty Rogue, don't be dead, non? Don't be…." He cut off, frowning as he found no evidence of a tear in her shirt. He lifted her shoulders up slightly, and uneasily, reached for the hem of her shirt to see if it had merely missed the fabric.

Her hand shot out, catching his at once only to release it like a hot potato.

"Rogue?" he tried again, rather relieved and angry. She didn't blink, only muttered and reached her other hand up toward the back of her head.

"Mon Dieu, y' alive or not?" he demanded of her, shaking her somewhat more roughly.

Her dark green eyes fluttered open with annoyance and alarm as her head was rattled back and forth thanks to his jostling of her shoulders. "Ouch," she said indignantly, squeezing her eyes tightly shut before opening them again. "Knock it off, will yah?"

"How de hell aren't yah dead?" Remy shouted, looking around for a spot on the wall or floor where the dagger might have hit if it missed. He could have sworn it was heading right at her….

"No call ta sound so disappointed," she managed woozily. "Gawd, mah ribs-"

"Gawd, mah heart!" he mimicked, dropping her back. "What, y' got some kinda healin'-"

"Pen's mightier than the sword, Remy," she said dizzily, gesturing to the pile of coats.

Confused, he picked up his own trenchcoat, swinging it over his shoulders in something of a huff, and looked at the bomber jacket on the floor suspiciously, as if it might be lead-lined. Kicking it, he jumped when he felt something solid impact against his boot.

Surprised, he picked up the immensely thick red leather book Rogue had been lugging around, which now had a dagger reaching about three-fourths of the way through it, all the way to where the hilt had gotten caught on the thick cover. He fingered the edges of the uncut pages and stared at her. "Bet m' life dat's papyrus, chere."

"Don't call me that," she said with a sigh, rubbing her head and placing a hand against her chest, where the book must have slammed against her. "An' it's not. It's made of palm leaves or somethin', Ms. Darkholme'd send different empty books t' Irene when she'd go on business trips. That might be one of the Malay- Holy…! She dead?"

Remy didn't follow her stricken glance. "She prob'ly wishes," he muttered. He stared at the book in his hands, shaking his head. "Irene, dis y' mere?"

"Mah guardian," Rogue corrected, trying to sit up rather than flop back. "Ah… probably ought ta have warned yah. She can see the future."

Gambit blinked at her, then shrugged. "Lots o' women down in N'Awlins do dat, chere. My Tante Mattie e'en likes t' claim she can see de loves o' mine n' mon cousins lives in her jambalaya- ahhhhh. Y' mean dat's her power? Y' mean-" His gaze turned over to Belle, and hardened slightly. "Damn!" He shook his head in disbelief and handed the book and the dagger in it to her. "T'ings like dat, y' got t' tell me-"

"Gambit, the room's on fire."

"Yeah, I know. C'mon, grab dis bedsheet wit' me an' help me tie her up, 'kay?"

"You're gonna leave her in here?"

He rubbed his forehead in dismay. "Nah, chere. We're gonna leave her outside an' see how long 'fore some good soul calls 911. Right?"

"Yeah," Rogue said dazedly, pulling herself to her feet.

"An' as much as I'm against puttin' firearms in y' hands, y' might wanna take de crossbow."

She stared at him. "What, yah kiddin' meh? It's only got one broken bolt left. 'S dead weight. Anyway, ah hate-"

He sighed. "Lemme guess. Y' against violence dat ain't up close an' personal?"

Rogue shook her damp hair, which thankfully seemed to be drying relatively straight. "Nah, ah got no objections. All for the NRA long as the gun barrel's not pointed in mah direction. Jus' not very good at it. Irene was awful disappointed."

"Whatcha mean, not good?" Remy wondered with a sinking feeling, snatching up his bo staff and adjusting it to its travel size.

"For Gawd sakes!" she snapped. "Ah had ta have the voices in mah head dredge up one of somebody else's skills so ah could damn well save yah life. Any idea how much ah hate that? No? Try groping around in yah head for a little piece that thinks like Bobby Drake so yah can get him ta find the little piece of Destiny left that knows how ta do stuff like that. It's not easy and it makes mah head hurt, and guess what? Ah couldn't even get that. Can't access any of the psyche's skills but Cody's. Ah'm just damn lucky Cody Robbins goes hunting with his father- make that yah're just damn lucky," she corrected him, following him as he ripped off pieces of bed sheets and dragged Belladonna out of the room and down the stairs.

"Who?" he asked in confusion as he knotted her hands together expertly.

Rogue sat down on a step, ignoring the smoke now pouring out of the room. "This boy. Back home. Mah powers kicked in on him. Figure it out."

Remy chewed on a small corner of his lip, not knowing what to say. "Dead?"

"Comatose." she corrected.

He winced. "Hope it was worth his pains-" He forced a gag over Belle's mouth, unconscious though she was and would certainly stay for quite awhile.

"What're yah implyin'?" Rogue demanded suspiciously, holding onto her head and leaning against the stair. "Whatever evil little thoughts are runnin' through y' head, he was jus' tryin' to help meh." She held up her left hand, scabbed over with a cut. He gave her an innocent look, as if he hadn't been thinking anything at all.

Remy, finished, paused to move Belle's hair out of her face, glanced at the burning motel room and shook his head. "T'ink dey'd have a smoke alarm. Body could die in a situation like dat, if he had too much to drink an' left a cigarette burnin'…. " Thinking of that, he reached into his pockets for a cigarette, assured nicotine would help now. Finding nothing but all of his carefully hidden cards stacked into one deck, he glared at her and held out a hand to help her up. Uneasily, she took it and let him tug her upright.

"Yah know what…." she muttered.

He listened, rubbing his ear as they walked down the stairs.

"Ah think it might be best if you drive."

Gambit let out a short bark of a laugh, swooping up several packs of his cigarettes once they reached the ground. Not bothering to worry about avoiding the security camera, he charged an extra piece of bed sheet and threw it to drift casually onto the dirty lens. It went kabang nicely.

The two of them surveyed the black Porsche parked before them, and then wordlessly, Gambit held his hand out for the book. He plucked the knife out, not noticing the pages flutter open as he did so, and proceeded to slash the tires methodically.

"Remy?" Rogue said in a strangely high voice, as she bent to look at the page where the dagger had halted.

"Oui?"

"No, _in the book_…"

A knot dropped in his stomach, and he hustled over to see what she was staring at with such trepidation. He bent to pick up the pages, turning in the same wind which was piercing his wet skin to the bone.

Tight, meandering script littered the coarse, thick pages. "Latin," he muttered under his breath, casting a glance at the stricken Rogue. Slowly, he turned the page to where the dagger had halted and sharply drew in a breath.

"Dat's me," he managed, looking at a sketch that was undoubtedly himself from the trenchcoat and cards fluttering around it.

She cast him a look that suggested that was obvious, but her heart wasn't in it.

"I'm, uh…. why are all t'ose folk dying and why am I in de center of it?" he demanded, panicked and plainly confused. He jabbed his fingers at the tortured sketches carrying on around him while he stood in the center, hanging his head. "I mean, it'd make sense if dey were blowin' up or somet'in- don' look at me like dat!- but, dis, dis is jus'-"

"That's Sabretooth," Rogue said studiously, staring at the page with as blank a face as she could manage.

"Where?"

"Uh, he'd be the one decapitating the little-"

"Oh." Remy stared, and then with a growing horror began to flip through the book.

"What're you doing?" Rogue cried, trying to stop him.

He held it above her head and began walking in the direction of the motorcycle. "I can' read it," he exclaimed angrily. "Look here, Rogue, what is dis? It's all about you!"

She stopped in her tracks. "It is?"

Gambit, angrily, turned to the front, revealing a picture of a blue woman picking up a child. Flipping a few pages ahead, he found one of a girl who looked an awful lot like her taking the hand of a boy- yet on the same page, the boy was kissing her.

Rogue jumped, pointing. "That never happened!"

"Yeah? An' de other one?" Remy gestured to the rather poorly drawn sketch of a sick-looking boy touching the hand of a girl whose hair had a streak of white in it.

She looked down. "That did."

Gambit dropped it to the ground with a thud, staring at his hands.

Rogue snatched it up, her pulse racing. "C'mon," she said, tugging on him. "Let's get going, c'mon."

"Dere was blood in my hands in de picture," he muttered to himself, looking alarmed. "An angel losin' his wings an' children dyin' an' me in de center of it all like Lucifer himself-"

"Cut the melodrama!" Rogue exclaimed, looking fit to slap him. "Have yah lost your mind? We've got ta go! Look, the woman who wrote this? Ah grew up with her. She's not some kinda all-powerful- argh, look, she didn't see me leavin' comin' in advance, all right? She screwed up, obviously, or ah wouldn't be here with her sending assassins on my tail, right?"

"We're readin' dat damn book," he ordered, pointing imperiously.

"Now?"

"No," he said sheepishly, looking down. "Once we run into somebody who knows Latin."

"Fine, fine!" Rogue agreed, pointing in the direction of the motorcycle. A light was going on in the main entrance of the motel.

"T'ink I'm wicked, chere?" he asked her in a strange tone as they rushed towards the hidden bike.

She shot him a look. "No. At best you're arrogant but well-mannered and worst ah've seen you're a dangerous jackass, but no. Not even Belladonna. Bitch, sure, but wicked? Evil doesn't wear shiny lip gloss. It'd at least have red lipstick, c'mon."

He shot her a disbelieving look.

"What, ah'm not supposed to know make-up? Please."

"Y' don't know a t'ing about me. What I've done. What I'm gonna do. An' y' didn't ask 'bout Paris like Belle suggested."

Stepping on twigs, Rogue hastily uncovered the motorcycle, looking at Gambit, who was shivering and had his hands in his pockets. Frankly, he looked a little pathetic. Really good-looking, she had to admit, but nevertheless a relatively well-meaning sap with dangerous powers and an attitude. "Nothing she suggests can be a good idea," Rogue said in an exasperated voice. "Yah didn't kill her an' you're helping me, whether your intentions are honorable or not. Don't flip out on me, now."

He gave her an indignant look, but his gaze kept trickling back to the motel.

"Aha," she said, with an air of revelation. "It's not the silly picture at all. It's her, isn't it? She really made you feel as if you _were_ some kinda devil when _she_ said it, hmm?"

Remy gave her a grin that wasn't a grin at all. "Le Diable Blanc, dey call me."

"If it helps at all- and I know this ain't sayin' much- you're a far better person than she is," she informed him, one hand on her hip. "Or bigger person, or whatever it is yah say. Whatever her feelings are, she wasn't about to let that stop her from murderin' yah."

His gaze flickered over her face absently, as if he wasn't really looking at her. "Dey're not fond of that word, de assassins," he commented mildly.

Her lips formed a slight pout of disbelief. "What, murder? What do they call it, then, feeding the daisies?"

"Dey prefer inhume," he said, now apparently studying the bark growth on a tree.

Her confusion didn't need to be said.

Absentmindedly, he gestured at her as he searched for one of the recovered packs of cigarettes with the other. "T'ink like exhume, only before yo' buried."

The silence was deafening as she took that in and Gambit barely even registered the loud voices now shouting from the direction of the motel.

Rogue studied his features for a moment. "You must have loved her an awful lot," she said quietly.

He drew a cigarette, and glaring at it extremely intensely, set it smoldering with an air of relief. He drew in deeply and let it rest on his lip. "Loved myself more," he answered cynically. "Wasn't dat obvious jus' now?"

She shrugged, straddling the bike and giving him an impatient look. "Okay, so maybe, if ah'm gettin' the implication right, yah got an overactive sense of self-preservation. Do me more good than an proactive martyrdom would, right? Look, ah'm just impressed yah got out of there relatively alive and unharmed."

He looked up, blowing out smoke, his face surprised. "What? You, impressed?"

She glared at him. "It helped ah got her talkin'. An' shot her. But, yeah. A little."

The corner of his lip twitched up in what might have been the very beginning of a smile, but it stopped. He stalked over to the motorcycle, climbing on as she with reluctance slid to the back, still rubbing the back of her head slightly as she pulled her bomber jacket back on. "Y' know what mon pere told me?" he said suddenly, as he tucked the heavy book she handed him deep into the folds of his trenchcoat.

She waited, obviously not knowing.

"Y' got not'in t' fear from folks who're bad or evil, 'cause de odds are damn good dey'll talk too much before dey kill y', fo' one reason or ano'ter. An' he'd know." He tinkered with a few wires they'd pulled into the open earlier, glancing over his shoulder to see if she was listening. She was. "It's de good men y' got t' fear," he continued. "'Cause dey'll kill y' wit'out a word if it needs t' be done."

Rogue waited a beat, but that seemed to be the end of his quote. "And?" she asked. "Why are yah tellin' me that? Which one are you?"

He didn't answer her first inquiry as he adjusted the wires again, briefly producing a spark. "Neit'er, chere. Mon pere t'ought I was one o' de weak ones. Jus' pointin' out, didn't do anyt'in t' be impressed 'bout. Belle beat 'erself as much as I beat her."

Remy revved up the motorcycle, and her arms slid reluctantly around his waist. "I'm not a nice man, chere," he told her over the roar of the bike.

"Yeah, well, ah need more scoundrels in mah life anyways," she yelled, not having the slightest clue what to say that could ease his pain in the slightest. "And don' call me that!"

He smiled at that, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Anyt'ing y' say, chere."

The motorcycle sped off into the night.


	8. The Calm Before

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

A/N: Hey. This is actually my longest chapter yet, and is slightly different- random in places, and I figure either too unsubtle or too subtle in places. In points it could be more than one chapter, and it's unquestionably a transitional one, so bear with me. There's also the matter of me being quite sick while writing it yesterday, though I was aware of little more than a headache at the time, and still quite sick today when I finished it, so before the screen starts swimming before my eyes I'm going to do my review response. But if it gets odd at any point (which I really can't remember if it does)- that's why. But I'm updating it now because, although sick, I, personally, like it very much, though I may get pelted with eggs for saying that. But- briefly- oh, whoa. Though I'm not keen on doing this 'cause it distracts from any evil cliffie I might throw in- which I didn't really, this time- my review response ended up so long it MUST go at the end b/c scanning through that would challenge a saint's patience. Anyway, must update this quickly, so I'm done rambling deliriously….Read on!

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He drove grimly, as if etching a lasting gouge into the road with every surge of the motor. He leaned too far forward, skittered too close to the edge, skimmed the cars they passed with none of the energy and enthusiasm driving her own brushes of death but with an urge to hurt something. If the bike had spikes that might gash the road, she suspected he'd have them out.

It was beginning to get on her nerves, especially since he wasn't saying anything. The slightly damp trenchcoat flapped continually into her face. As the wind hit them, it blew the tail end straight into her pale face made possibly whiter by the residue of dust. Every single blasted minute the damn thing slapped against her chin as it blew up and brushed against her cheek as it went down. When the material caught on her nose, she let go of his waist, face balled in frustration. Gripping tightly with her legs, she caught the tail of the trenchcoat and shoved it ferociously against the seat, holding it down as she would a bucking bronco. Triumphantly, she stood up slightly and sat directly on the damned thing. The ends fluttered pitifully in the winds and stayed put. Exhaling with the faintest measure of relief, she uneasily grabbed onto his waist again.

For the first time in miles, he looked over his shoulder. "Y' sitting on my coat," he said blankly. There was still some blood on his face, but Rogue suspected mentioning it would not improve his mood any.

She tilted her head to the left slightly, gesturing annoyance as she waited for him to make his point.

"Dat's gonna wrinkle it," he complained. "How'm I s'posed t' walk about, when de back of my coat's all crumpled, an'-" he switched lanes, gliding past a car with little boys who immediately glued their faces to the window, noses being forced into a pig-like shape and mouths dropping open as the motorcycle passed. Remy tossed a wave to them, Rogue rolled her eyes and looked away, "it'll prob'ly stick up 'stead of falling straight," he yelled sourly. The motor nearly drowned out his words but she caught the gist.

"Yeah? What d'yah prefer, the end of your coat ta be slightly mushed or me to go beserk?" Rogue hollered. She waited a beat for an answer.

It was a while before a disgruntled response returned. "I could take y'."

She shot a glare at his back. "No doubt, moron. But how much yah wanna bet ah'd inflict some kinda lasting injury first? Yah like kids?"

He looked back at her with slight alarm. "Not 'ticularly, but I'd very much like t' maintain de capability t' have 'em."

"Then the coat's staying where it is."

He shrugged his shoulders in answer, moving them uneasily as he turned sharply and sliding the coat forward, bringing her a smidge closer to him than she liked. Without a word to her, Remy scanned the area, looking for cops. With difficulty, he loosened his clenched teeth, working his jaw back and forth for a second. Slowly, after squinting for a moment, the corner of his lip rose in a slight smirk. He swerved the bike slightly back and forth as they headed up the highway.

Then, with a shake of his head that sent his shaggy hair flying about, he let out a rebel yell of "Yeee-hahhhhh!" With the outcry, he reared the motorcycle into a wheelie that forced Rogue to cling on tightly. Landing with a bounce, he revved it forward and sped away.

Her eyes danced as the motorcycle picked up speed, her two-toned hair lifting from her shoulders to streak back in the wind. Tendrils danced around her face like a halo, twisting about in wet strands that smacked against her skin without notice. Expertly, without any of the wild bounces or swerves that characterized her spins behind the wheel, the motorcycle sped dead ahead with all the single-mindedness of a bullet in its course.

The wind couldn't be good for him, of course. Through her gloves and sleeves, she could feel how sopping wet he remained, and, to her intense discomfort, at certain points where his coat shifted or her hands were forced by some bump or another directly against him, the soaked shirt seemed thin enough to lend the illusion she'd brushed by his skin. That stung, to her surprise, with an excruciating sharpness Rogue had ignored. Although it was certainly something she'd never think about in conjunction with this idiot, the reminder came, nevertheless… of all that she'd suddenly been denied. With this whirlwind of a new life she'd found herself swept up in, she'd forgotten the very high cost of…

"Was a pretty damn good fight, t'ough, non?" Remy shouted, turning his head back enough so that Rogue could see the glint of his garnet irises and definitely breaking her trail of thoughts. She gave him a disbelieving look, which she couldn't maintain as the pressure of the chill wind tugged at the corners of her face and pulled at her slightly open mouth. At her lack of response, he continued, though he kept his face more towards the road. "I been crazy 'bout de femme, sure, but got to admit, feel a bit- maybe more den a bit- better having kicked her a-"

"WATCH THE ROAD!" Rogue hollered, whacking him in the back as he turned his attention to it in time to veer away from a large truck. Its driver honked the horn at them and raised a particular finger as they passed, which led to Remy narrowing his eyes and struggling desperately not to grab for a card. His temper was definitely on edge.

"Moron!" Rogue repeated, cuffing his ear.

"Hey!" Remy yelled back, hurt and trying to keep his hands on the road rather than reach to rub his ear. "'M very sore and very ticked off, an' y' t'ink yo'd have learned not mess wit' me-"

"Some people never learn," she said sweetly and somewhat absently as her eyes locked on the dark sky, faded from velvet black to a strangely muddy navy blue. Beneath the lightened backdrop, the smidge of moon looked oddly unreal.

"T'ought y' said y' were impressed," he returned somewhat huffily without having really heard her, speeding up even more.

"Hmm?" she responded in distraction, luxuriating in the whipping wind, even if it was a tad cold…. Rogue wondered if perhaps absorbing Bobby had made the cold somewhat less bothersome, or if she were just adjusting, but at this speed, how could she even care? His words had become completely unintelligible over the increasing roar of the motorcycle, although he seemed to be muttering something else. She debated hitting him on the back of the head just for good measure, but resisted the impulse, since her hand was frankly too sore and his head was probably in even more pain.

The rough, shadowy surface of the road, dull in the lightening night sky, stretched beneath them. It seemed for a moment as if the motorcycle was standing still and the highway rolled backward with ever increasing speed beneath the thick wheels, the whole world rotating underneath. The illusion vanished as the bike hit a bump and left the ground, soaring for a sheer instant and landing to screech sharply around the next bend.

As they turned, light blinded Rogue. Her instincts sent her into a state of alarm but it became apparent quickly enough that it was the sunrise, not the headlights of a police helicopter or a blinding spotlight. The golden-hued light, awash with highlights of orange, spread over them and glinted off the metal of the motorcycle, dirty as it was in places. It caught in Gambit's hair, tinting it a dark red, and probably in his eyes as well. The motorcycle wrenched to a stop, as from its high speed it whirled to the side as it horizontally slid along the road. Sparks shot off the tires in bursts. Before it tilted lower towards the ground, which they had no helmets to protect against, Remy pulled it to the side and it screeched piercingly against the rail as it painfully slowed. Neither winced as some of the finish scraped off. With the motor halted and it slowed enough, Gambit eased his booted foot to the ground with a stomp, halting the lasting momentum of the bike. Propping the bike against the rail in the painted off edge for pedestrians, he slid off and leaned back against the motorcycle, mimicking its slant. Rogue, mildly confused but too distracted to berate him for stopping, had no choice but to dismount along with him because otherwise her position on his trenchcoat would have sent him tumbling. As amusing as that sounded, it was overall not a good idea, so she too leaned against the motorcycle though without taking the least notice of her companion.

Enraptured, she gazed at the blazing ball of the yet wan light, thus far only a rim surfacing above the pine trees and failed to notice the fluffy clouds of a vibrantly pink tint against the dark blue sky. Remy, however, watched the clear sky carefully as the golden light melded against the dark sky to form a distinctly reddish hue which seemed poised to spread against the sky. However he attempted to force cheer, a glum frown spread against his face and he turned towards Rogue, rubbing his forehead. He paused slightly, tilting his head to look at the burning glints reflecting the faint hints of a light brown mingled in her deeply green eyes. She didn't notice him, too busy with her faintly judgmental appraising of the sunrise that framed his shadowed figure with a thin line of gold.

Not quite conscious of what he was doing, he reached to push a tousled strand of white away from her face. Rogue jerked back at once with a suspicious glare, her interest broken.

He gestured to her face. "Y' got dust right there, chere." He pointed carelessly.

Sourly, she fiercely rubbed her gloved hand against the spot he had indicated, and coughed slightly as a slight cloud of the dust that hadn't been whipped away by the wind emerged. Balling her hands into fists, she rubbed at her face and hairline further, squinting her eyes as she brushed away the traces of powdery grime that remained. "What's with yah?" Rogue demanded, earning a bewildered look in return. She clarified. "What's with the speeding up and the pulling over an'-"

The black of his eyes seemed to soak in all the light and remain even darker in this shade. He pointed at the sky. "Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky a' morn, sailor's take warn."

Rogue gave him an utterly blank look. "What?" She glanced at the sky warily, then back at him. "Ah think yah vision may be slightly off, Gumbo."

He glared. "Not'ing wrong wit' mon vision. Jus' 'cause y' eyes are brown-"

"Green," she corrected, glaring obstinately.

As if that fact wasn't already seared into his memory, he shrugged carelessly with something of a mean smirk. "Eit'er way, y' don' see de world in green, hmm? Sky's red. Storm coming. Nasty one. Was afraid of that, with the wind an' all. An' more den dat, we need suppl-"

"How'd yah know that?" Rogue persisted, folding her arms.

Remy shook his head. "De Big Easy's been a port city an' awful long time, chere. Look, as I was sayin'-"

"Don't call me that," she said with the slightest roll of her eyes. "Fahne, what kind of supplies?"

Remy stared at her, face expressing complete disbelief. ""T'ain't obvious?"

Her face tightened slightly in exasperation. She waited with little patience.

Shaking his head, he gestured at his outfit and his eyes. She considered this, taking into account his shirt of light material of now indistinguishable color from the blood, scorch marks, water marks, and occasional tears as well as his very noticeable eyes. Rogue's gaze ticked to her own shirt, trailed with blood from the rip in her shoulder and the residue of mud and dust, as well as her pants which were clearly not designed for riding on a motorcycle. Uneasily, her hand drifted towards the streaks in her hair. Their skin, at least, was cleaner than it had been before their previous stop, but Belle had rather spoiled that. "Ahhh," she said slowly. "Yah have a point. We're pretty scruffy lookin'."

Remy quirked an eyebrow at her. "Scruffy? _Moi_?"

She shook her head disgustedly, though was forced to admit he was right. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, and all the signs of trouble indicated by his rather messy manner of dress, his damp hair still fell in careless short loops about his features with a wind-blown grace that was certainly not fair. His trenchcoat, as shabby as it might appear off him, hung about him with a presence. It clung to him here and there and billowed at the bottom only, while each wrinkle and slightly overlarge section such as the sleeves seemed exactly in place. He knew it, too. If anything, he was dishabille. Scruffy, perhaps, but with bags and bags of style. It was hard not to hate him a little for that, especially when she felt like something some evil little cat was forced to give over after trotting proudly in the door with its conquest in its mouth. Rogue chose to ignore his slight smirk and simply shoot a look of contempt.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued. "So I t'ink we best cover much ground as we can, den find some town t' bunker down in till de weather passes. Only ot'er option'd be t' try t' run it out, but dat don' sound good t' me." He paused, seeing her expression. "Yes, I'm sure de weather'll be bad." Remy, viewing her skepticism with exasperation, pulled out his metaphoric ace. "Might mean blizzard."

Rogue froze. Hurriedly but glancing at the clear sky with a small amount of anxiety, she said reluctantly, "Yeah, all right, a town sounds okay. But…"

His eyes darkened. "Belle be tied up, Sabretooth don't move dis fast since I blew up his 'cycle- pity, too- an' if yo' wicked mères send somebody else after y', den dey'll show up anyway. An' c'mon, y' honestly t'ink dat of all places, we'd die in New Hampshire?"

"How come we're not moving, then?" Rogue said, gesturing broadly at the bike and the horizon.

He shrugged. "Figure if I take a detour, ought t' tell y' first 'cause ot'erwise y'll hit me."

"Ah will not!" she snapped, offended.

"Sure y' would. T'ink about it. An' I don' t'ink I can handle bein' hit by anymore women 'less I've had a good few more drinks." He stopped himself, considering. "Whatever town we find better have a bar."

Her eyes filled with a mixture of horror and supreme annoyance.

"An' a Cat'olic church," he mused.

"You're that concerned about making church on Sunday!"

"Hmm? Non! Haven't been t' church in- awhile. Priests speak Latin up here, t'ough, non? Not de masses anymore, but still know it, non?"

"Ah'm not Catholic," she answered, shaking her head as she adjusted the bike. It seemed an unspoken agreement it was her turn to drive, since he didn't object. "Still, though, ah think it's a really, really bad idea."

"Why?" he asked innocently, making no move to get on the bike as the sky failed to lighten further even as the sun rose. The clouds seemed surprisingly thick behind his head.

"Remy…." she said delicately as he started the motorcycle up again for her with his remarkably nimble long fingers. "Ah'm thinkin' we're not the ideal pair ta be askin' a priest for help."

He smiled sardonically as he leaned back against the rail, ignoring the cars flashing by. "'Cause I'm _le diable blanc_?" His face betrayed no tension despite the venom in his words, but a large orange plastic tag on the metal railing there to show its position in the dark began to glow a bright pinkish shade.

"Gambit!"

Sullenly, he folded his arms and opened his mouth to say something. Rogue, annoyed at his obliviousness, snagged the sleeve of his trenchcoat and wrenched him away from the railing and both toppled over, the running motorcycle flopping with them. The plastic exploded loudly, sending a burst of heat, light and smoke into the air.

"Ah, crap…" Rogue began as the sound died down, only to snap her head in the direction of a siren very close by as it was switched on. Stumbling to their feet, the two propped the motorcycle back up, careful not to bump the throttle, as a door snapped open behind them.

Remy whirled around, putting a hand up to his suddenly squinted eyes as if blocking out the sun as he whirled around. He flashed a quick smile. "Can we help y', officer?"

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

The last time she recalled feeling so much pain was when Julien had broken her arm as part of an object lesson on how to handle it and work through it. The thought of Julien stabbed her with pain in the heart. She'd failed him. She'd been humiliated! Her anger overcame the pain as her eyes fluttered open.

"Gahh!" Belle yelped involuntarily as her eyes opened on a man with a distinctly unpleasant smile who seemed to be sharpening his knives on a nearby rock. She took stock of the situation quickly. She was facing the motel through what appeared to be bushes and trees, able to see it was swarming with cops who were examining her expensive rented car. Quickly, she tried to take stock of the situation, despite her spinning head and her legs, searing with pain. Her mouth was free, but her hands and legs were very tightly bound. Trying to look, she determined her bonds were… bedsheets. She'd kill Remy! Tying her up and leaving her for the cops!

"'Afternoon," the man said in a pleasant tone that wasn't very pleasant at all. Belle knew that tone well enough. It was the sort used by men who'd call you friend, ironically the men least likely to be friendly.

He turned from where he was crouched by the rock, standing straight to reveal he wasn't very tall at all. Belle's perfect eyebrows lifted slightly, dismissively. His eyes assessed her just as coolly. They were hard, mean eyes, very nearly black, at least examining her. They said very plainly they didn't like what they saw in the least and that she'd better not try anything, or else. There was no need to ask 'or else what?' His eyes answered the question readily enough. If they hadn't, there were always the three thin, almost triangularly shaped blades which reminded the assassin at once of claws that with a sound somewhere between a squelch and a snap slid back into his hands. His face might have been handsome once, if he had ever had a youth, but his eyebrows were a shade too heavy, nose slightly too squat and broken, for it to be called that now. It was an interesting, expressive face, though Belle would have preferred to simply cut it up with her daggers. He could easily be considered attractive, if not handsome, from the intensity radiating from his eyes and the wiriness of his frame, but Belladonna found herself reminded inexplicably of a dog she'd always wanted to kick. His hair was potentially unfortunate, so dark as black as to be nearly blue, and stood straight up which wasn't particularly extraordinary except for the two thick locks on each side which remained higher than the rest and curved slightly inward after a slight initial outward tendency.

He settled himself on a rock, with plastic utensils, a tray wafting the scent of cooling cooked food and a suspicious glance at her. "Cajun," he commented briskly, and it took her a moment to realize he meant her rather than the food. "And an assassin. Awful far from home, aren't ya?" His voice was a low and deep, with a growling resonance to every syllable. Awaiting a response, he stabbed at a thin piece of meat with his knife and bit it directly off it.

She remained silent, struggling to master the pain and to assess the best way to manipulate this man. His dark blue T-shirt demonstrated his definite musculature, even though most of it was hidden by a black jacket of perhaps jean material. He sat with coiled strength, even in his mock casual pose. Belladonna wasn't afraid of him, but somewhat curious and mildly concerned. She was, after all, in a disadvantageous position.

"I wouldn't suggest squirming, darlin'," he mentioned mildly in a way implying she was anything but. "Your friend did a mighty nice job there, I reckon, assuming his intention was to make the knot more damn painful every time you move." He skewered another piece of meat with the plastic knife and slid it off into his mouth.

She looked up, blue eyes blazing through her sheet of very mussed blond hair. "Dis'd be de point where y' suggest de easy way or de hard way, non?" she spat. "Seeing as y' got no ami to play good cop, bad cop with, hmm? Get to it. I don't hold wit' small talk."

He shook his head slightly, and apparently finding the plastic knife too weak as he attempted to embed it in the piece of apparently take-out or leftover steak he was slicing up, extended the middle claw from his left hand with a wince-worthy sound suspiciously reminiscent of 'snikt' to do so. "Sorry, darlin'. I'm not familiar with easy ways. And I doubt I've ever been a cop. Let alone a good one." He bit the perfectly sliced meat off, chewing calmly. With his left hand, he reached over to pull out a dagger he'd found, which had apparently been discarded.

"Dat's mine," Belle managed in a growl.

Appraisingly, he fiddled with it. "Steel," he commented lightly. "Admantium leaf at the tip. Cost you a fortune, I suppose." He paused without consciously thinking about doing so. "More likely cost Papa Boudreaux a fortune, come to think of it."

"Y' some kind of bounty hunter?" she hissed, becoming seriously annoyed as her attempts at releasing her wrists from behind her back resulted in the tightening nearly cutting off her circulation.

"Nope." With the extended claw, he casually lopped off the steel to leave the admantium coated tip. As another fellow might whittle wood with a sharp knife while speaking to a prisoner, he casually began to peel off the coating of admantium, the hardest known metal in the world, without much more difficulty or resistance than he'd have in peeling an orange. That left, of course, no doubt in Belle's mind of what the claws must be made of. She forced herself to keep from gulping.

"Why are y' after me?"

He looked up with a menacing grin. "Ya flatter yourself, darlin'. I haven't got an interest in one hair on your head, which may be pretty but ain't half so much as I'm sure you think."

"Petit démon poilu," she muttered. "My employer, den, hmm?"

"I do speak French," he observed. "And nah, though I am tempted to kill you simply for havin' Raven's number on you, seein' as that's not gonna end well."

Her jaw clenched. "Y' dared search me!"

His expression was bemused as he munched thoughtfully. "Don't worry, darlin', I may not be a gentleman but you're certainly not my type."

"Dieu, jus' tell me what y' damn well want!"

He toyed with a pair of keys in one hand while wiping his mouth with the other. "Nice car," he added absently, ignoring her fuming expression. "Reaches 113 miles per hour. Sleek. Bit lower to the ground than I like, but not bad."

Belle let out a stream of curses in French before she settled for staring at him angrily.

The man leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "I'm sure you're a smart girl. Probably not clever, but smart I can see. Wily. I'm really beginning to dislike wily women." This was, in fact, potentially the understatement of the year, as the aura of menace beneath it implied. "So I'm gonna tell you something, and then you're gonna tell me something."

"A good hair salon?" she suggested venomously. "Perhaps after you question if I feel lucky… which, by the way, I h-"

"The name's Wolverine," he said quietly, beginning to cut up a potato.

She stopped dead, staring at him with all the threatening power of Bambi, with his leg caught in a trap, facing a good-sized military tank steamrolling through the forest.

He smiled. "Now, if you'd oblige in tellin' me about the jokers riding _my_ bike…"

"""""""""""""""""""""""

The police officer stared at Gambit in disbelief.

Rogue buried her face in her hands.

Remy, becoming seriously alarmed, clapped the man on the shoulder again. "And y' certainly gonna let us go, non, mon brave?" His tone was smooth and quite suave, though slightly less confident than he had been the first time around. He gave the man a very innocent look.

The blond man, not much older than Remy, stepped away in sincere alarm and drew his gun quite quickly. "Step away and place your hands on the vehicle."

Gambit looked immensely confused and slightly worried. "Sorry, what was de last?" he said, staring at the gloves on his hand which covered some fingers while leaving others uncovered as if they were devastating weapons, which they were, as he raised them slowly in front of him.

Rogue stepped up, holding her hands in front of her face innocently. Gambit noticed with a tad of approval that they were uncovered. "Ah'm sorry, officer," she said in as panicked a tone as she could muster. She shot a death glare at Gambit. "Mah friend here thinks he's a Jedi Knight."

Remy didn't like this at all. "Do not," he muttered.

"Oh really?" Rogue hissed in dangerous tones. "How else would yah explain attempts to influence the mind of this gentleman?"

"I'm a hypnotist," he hissed back in equally alarming tones. "Hence de _contacts_. An' dis be my lovely assistant-"

Before the thoroughly confused policeman could blink, Remy knocked the gun aside and Rogue clamped her hand on his throat, removing it at once as the man crumpled to his knees and to the ground.

"What'd yah think you were doing?" she hollered, once she'd beaten the voice of the startled man back without a great deal of difficulty.

"I charm folks," he managed, looking shocked. "Usually works. 'Specially on women. Granted, 's been a bit off…"

"A bit off?" she repeated in utter horror, looking apt to hit him. He backed up before she was in a mind to. Rogue shook her head in disbelief. "Don't do that again. More apt to get us killed than you blowin' us up!"

"Don' give me orders," he said warningly, eyes dangerous.

"Yeah? 'Cause doing things your way's going sooo well!"

"Still alive, non?"

"Barely!"

He glared. "Don' get picky, now…"

"_Picky?_ Ah've got another damn voice in mah head and it's _your_ fault!"

"How should I have handled dat, den?" he asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

"All yah had t' do was knock him out when yah got close!"

"Pardon me fo' not t'inkin knockin' out a copper was de best idea!"

"Ended up that way anyways, didn't it?" Rogue pointed out.

"How'm I s'posed t' know dis time it won't work? 'S been workin' fo' me for years!"

"Used it recently?"

"…no…."

She jabbed a finger at him. "Why, when yah can't handle yah other power, w-"

"I 'andle it fine," he said, voice sharp as a scythe.

Rogue, mouth closed and small and eyes narrowed, pointed wordlessly to the exploded orange tag. "It was stupid," she spat, and then slowly shook her head as she pulled her gloves back on. "Ah mean, c'mon, he thought you were hitting on him!"

Remy, next retort forgotten, clamped his mouth shut. His face flashed through a series of expressions, from horror to bemusement to annoyance and finally to simple weariness. He clapped his hands to his face, then slammed one fist down against the motorcycle seat.

It popped up.

Both stared as the rear of the leather seat lifted to reveal a compartment that hardly extended to any depth at all. Slowly, Remy reached in. Rogue, leaning over his shoulder, peered at the contents as well. It was taken up mostly by a thin, neatly folded and musky blanket, but there were some personal effects.

Remy began immediately to rifle through the wallet, while Rogue slowly fingered one of the slim canisters within. "Hey, Cajun," she said in a tone not half so snappy as intended to be as she examined the rest of the compartment. "What kind of fellow or dame'd have polish for blades but no knives?"

Gambit considered, glancing down at her. "Maybe 'e carries a lil' Swiss army knife," he said hopefully. He took the jar and handed her the wallet, having no interest in it since it contained no cash. His eyes widened. "Merde," he muttered.

"What?" Rogue wondered, examining the worn picture of a pretty Japanese woman and replacing it with care.

"Dis be what Belle used to get blood off her blades…"

"Yahh!"

"Yeah, I know- what?"

Silently she handed over a folded and less handled picture of a familiar looking woman with red hair and green eyes.

Remy whistled slightly, then noticed the government issue black outfit she was wearing. "Oh, c'mon," he said to the world at large. "Dis ain't fair…" He looked at Rogue.

She folded her arms across her chest. "Ah don't care," she said defensively. "Ah'm keeping the damn coat."

Remy looked at the sky, then at the used cloth for cleaning in the compartment. He shut it quickly and took a quick look at the motorcycle, particularly its tires, and noting once more it was rather exceptionally tricked out. He stared at the sky again, with a deflated look. "We better get goin'," he said hastily.

"Yes, let's," Rogue agreed. She cast a glance at the policeman. "Put him in his car first?"

"Yeah. Good t'inkin. Let's make it quick, t'ough."

"_Oh_, yeah…."

"""""""""""""""""""""

When the wind reached a fever pitch, sounding like a pack of wolves, and the sky above had darkened to a frightening gray that masked the twilight, they pulled in to a small town that looked like it might be suitable. It became immediately apparent to Rogue they wouldn't be staying when Remy pointed out miserably there was no bar, just a few restaurants that served drinks. He did unsubtly suggest stopping there quickly to perhaps grab a bite, but the expression on her face deterred him from pushing the issue further.

It was essential, though, that they stop for gas.

"We fill and run," Remy instructed by her ear as she uneasily parked. Stopping she was less secure with.

Leaving the motor on, she set her feet against the ground to keep the motorcycle steady. Rogue nodded at the cars ahead of them already filling up and those waiting to. "Can't, there's a line," she said, pointing out the obvious that he was failing to observe.

He winced as the shouts from inside the car ahead of them reached their ears. Rogue glanced at the kids, who were walloping each other soundly and whose mother, filling up the glass, was making threatening gestures from outside.

Remy's eyes flickered over to the convenience store. "Dis could be a while," he moaned as an old lady got out of her car to begin pumping her gas. He glanced at Rogue. "Feel like a candy bar?"

Innocently, she looked down and back up before turning to look at him. "Well, ah don't reckon ah have a crunchy center…"

"Adorable," he said flatly, jabbing her lightly in the back. He slung himself off the motorcycle with ease. "What d'yah want?"

Her eyes crinkled as the screams from within the car ahead of them rose to a fever pitch. "Oh, no," Rogue said dangerously. "Ah am not gonna sit out here listenin' ta the Addams family there while you stuff yah pockets with Three Musketeers bars. Ah'm goin' ta park, and then we'll go in- together- and wait till the line dies dow- what?"

"Always liked T'ree Musketeers bars, when I was lil'," he said, eyes hazy. "Dey're French, y'know-"

She pulled the motorcycle away rapidly to park it, which she did neatly if her popping the tire up over and onto the curb was discounted. He put his hands in his pockets, waiting for her to come back. Rogue hustled over, arms folded to block out the cold and with a suspicious look on her features. "If yah stealing the gas, no stealing the food," she ordered. "Anyway, ah've got money."

He shrugged innocently and followed her in, then bolted immediately to the cold drinks section.

"Ah'm not paying for that," Rogue muttered, as Remy began to examine their alcoholic beverage selection. She studied the potato chips, studiously attempting to ignore the little girl with the high pitched voice insisting on some ridiculously priced trinket.

"But the pig pooos!" the girl wailed loudly. Her mother, in jeans, was likewise ignoring her and attempting to pay the large, bear-like man behind the counter.

Rogue, one eye on the cars getting gas, examined the selection of cinnamon gum. Noticing the man behind the counter watching her with a mistrustful glint in his eye, she made sure her hands were visible and a good distance away from the goods.

Gambit sauntered over, holding several cardboard cases in which clinked six-pack assortments of beer and Guinness. He grinned widely as she stared at him murderously.

The mother turned to go, adjusting her coat, and in response the little girl threw herself to the floor, beating her fists and screaming. Embarrassed, the mother flashed them an apologetic smile as she vainly attempted to pull the hollering little girl to her feet.

Rogue looked at the mother, who rushed to grab the aforementioned pig from a nearby rack, with thinly veiled contempt, when Remy, not paying the slightest attention to the woman and child, suddenly thrust the cases at her and went back for more. Rogue's vision was suddenly blocked by dark bottles of beer sticking out of the thin cardboard containers, and she momentarily swayed. She caught her balance and went straight after him to refrigerated section to the side.

"Where are these supposed ta fit on the motorcycle, pray tell?" she demanded.

He looked up. "Weat'er's gettin' bad. We stay here, I need means of gettin' drunk."

She gave him a look.

"Takes a lot t' get me drunk," he clarified, pulling out a case of Budweiser with a distasteful look.

Rogue thrust the beer back at him. Rather than staggering under its weight, he merely shrugged and headed to the counter with the containers balanced perfectly on his arm. "You de one said no stealing," he whispered, highly amused.

He planted the bottles in an uneven stack on the counter, beginning to quietly count them up when from the other side of the stack came a rough clearing of the throat.Rogue's head shot up.

"I'm sorry. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the man said gruffly, eyeing Remy with distaste.

Gambit stiffened. "Why's that?" he asked tightly.

"I won't have mutants in my store," the man behind the counter replied firmly.

Remy didn't deny it. His hands snaked deeply into his pockets and his face took on a hard look. The woman looked between the young man and Rogue with a mixture of horror and fascination, and the little girl fell semi-silent as she began to stage-whisper in her mother's ear.

"Our money's good as anybody else's," he said flatly.

"No. I'm afraid it's not," the proprietor responded, voice taking on mildly dangerous tones.

Rogue leaned back against a stack of magazines, staring at the tiles on the floor until the little girl's pointing got on her nerves and she glared directly at her with as much disdain as she could muster.

"'S cash, ain't it?" Remy insisted, voice growing harsher and entering a lower range.

"Won't sell to you, mister. Now I'm asking you nice. Don't make me ask otherwise," the man said icily. His hand stayed below the counter. Rogue followed his movement. She'd stake her life he had a rifle down there, or at least a baseball bat. She sighed and blew her hair out of her eyes.

The door opened with the ringing of a bell. The kids who had been screaming before rushed inside, pushing and shoving each other, followed by a no-nonsense woman who ignored the previous occupants of the store and the tension. She grabbed her children, spoke to them in low tones, and they quieted sullenly immediately, trickling throughout the store.

"I don't want trouble here," the man added roughly.

"We just pay for dese and go," Remy suggested, voice oozing with venom.

"No," the owner said harshly. "You're not welcome here. I'm not about to treat you circus freaks like everyone else, especially what with today's disaster."

Rogue's attention was suddenly recaptured. "What?" she snapped, looking around for an edition of the paper. The front page had something about a local congressman, so she immediately dismissed it.

She was ignored. "Get out," the man snarled. "And that's the last time I'll tell you."

The woman with her little girl, still holding the forgotten plastic pig, nodded approvingly.

Gambit started forward, but Rogue's arm snared his in her surprisingly vise-like grip. "Don't," she said, looking evenly at the man. She turned her gaze to Gambit. "Forget about it. They're not worth it."

His eyes smoldered for a moment with anger, then he checked himself and to her shock, grabbed her gloved hand. "Alright, den," he said simply, leaving the intended purchases behind and reaching for the door.

"Muties," a little voice piped up insultingly.

They turned. The little girl was making a nasty face at them, and blew a raspberry. "You're all going to H-E- double hockey sticks," she said satisfactorily. Her mother grabbed her fearfully, throwing her purse in front of herself as if it could stop whatever they sent at her child.

Remy and Rogue exchanged disbelieving looks.

A small boy fighting with his brother over buying Lays potato chips or Doritos had paused to look. "Ahh, go to hell yourself," he told her, then turned back to pummeling his sibling.

Shaking his head, Remy threw open the door, tugging Rogue with him. He paused only to wave at the little boy, then turned towards the motorcycle.

"Jackass," she muttered as Gambit cursed in French. She slowly slipped her hand out of his grip as they neared the motorcycle. He stopped, then paced in place, glaring at the owner watching them through the window.

"Why dey hate us, Rogue?" he asked furiously. "What we done t' dem?"

"Ah dunno. Scared, ah guess." She shrugged. "We're supposed ta be they're replacements. An' nobody wants to be replaced."

"Next generation replaces 'em anyways," he pointed out as he started the motorcycle running again. "We're dat, ain't we?"

"We've got powers they'll never have-"

"So did Cap'n America, didn't see anyone runnin' 'round tryin' ta lynch him!"

Rogue struggled with this as she stopped Remy from moving towards the gas pump with a furious intent. Her head dropped thoughtfully. Not very long ago at all, she'd thought she was one of the ordinary folk. "Yeah, but… he was one of them. The… he was still human- ah think. Them at their best. We're… well, they look at us and they know we'll be the one kickin' dirt on their graves, even if we don't meant ta, if what they say on the news is raight. Everything they're used to'll never be the same 'round us… they're just scared t' death of us, Remy. Can't do nothin' 'bout that. What ah'm worried about is that somethin' might have happened we don't know about, an' if they start runnin' even more scared than they are now… well, people've got scarier things than lynch mob up their sleeves."

He nodded soberly, and cracked a weak smile, ignoring the people peering out at them, probably poised to call the cops. "Y' pretty clever, Rogue. Fo' a fille."

She unfolded her arms at that. "Ah'm sorry?" she replied dangerously.

He laughed slightly as he straddled the bike. "My turn drivin'. I meant y' age, chere, not dat y' a femme. Let's book."

"We gotta find out what's happening in the world," she told him as she hopped on.

"Bars 'ave TVs," he offered hopefully. "'Least de proper kind does."

She sighed but didn't argue.

"Good," he pronounced as he peeled away. His voice darkened slightly. "'Cept we better be lookin' a helluva lot better, 'cause we really don' want a repeat performance o' _dat_!"

They drove through the town quickly and quietly, looking askance at the cars and houses. Though neither would admit it, both were mildly shaken by their last reception. The wind rippled the frost-covered grass before the houses, which seemed dulled to a dimmer shade by the color of the sky. The stormy darkness coated the scene before them as a film lens from a noir movie would, which added to the eerie silence but for the whir of the cars and the wind's howl to send an unwelcome shiver down Rogue's spine.

Remy slowed the motorcycle slightly as they neared a series of fast food restaurants with drive-throughs. His eyebrows went up slightly. "Y' still hungry?"

"Yeah…" she agreed reluctantly.

With a quick burst of speed and a bounce, the motorcycle zoomed into the parking lot of the Burger King and paused before a slim trail of planted shrubberies separating the lot from the McDonald's adjacent to it. Several cars were already lined up. Remy waited till a station wagon had paid the money, then pressed full down on the accelerator to jerk the bike forward and send it flying over the greenery and curb. A quick turn sent it skidding sideways to a stop, where it couldn't be seen by the windows, though it was probably heard. Immediately, someone in the car behind them began to yell, but the motorcycle reached the window first.

A young girl held out a bag, staring at the motorcycle and its driver with interest and looking at Rogue with no small measure of jealousy. She blinked. "Uh, two chick-"

"Dat's us," Remy replied swiftly, extending his hand for the bag. He smiled at her.

"Um…" Looking a little befuddled, she blinked again and handed it over. "Thank you, have a nice day?"

"Good t'ing didn't have to wait," Remy mumbled as he handed the bag to Rogue and peeled away, swerving around other vehicles.

Rogue, despite herself, was amused. She peeked in the bag with relish.

Remy paused. "Oh, and dese," he added, freeing one hand from the handlebar to reach into his pocket.

He handed back a considerable pile of Three Musketeers' bars.

She laughed slightly as she began to keep her eyes peeled for another gas station.

""""""""""""""""""""

It took a considerable while to follow road signs to an appropriately sized mall. They had passed a Wal-Mart, which were indeed everywhere as part of their executives' plot for world domination, but Gambit had objected. If you were going to steal, you might as well steal something with class.

The sleet coming from the sky, which practically radiated black, was making them both miserable, but particularly Remy, who'd really had enough of being damp by now and who insisted they attempt to keep dry with their coats, as being wet would make things more difficult. The wind had other plans, though, sending the thick globs of frosty water in chaotic directions which continually ended up being that which would best hit them in the face.

Remy pulled the motorcycle into the crowded mall, then whirled around very suddenly, quite intense. He paused to pull his trenchcoat up over his head so as not to get his hair wet again, not wanting to catch cold. "All right. Y' shoplifted before, right, Rogue?"

She'd already had her bomber jacket off and draped over her head and shoulder. Rogue glared at him from underneath it, feeling like a drowned rat. "No."

"Not ever!"

"No! Ah mean, yes! Never, all right? Why would ah bother? Especially with clothes," she added scornfully.

He paused, frowning. "Okay, den. Y' remember how dressing rooms work, chere?"

"Would a POW remember their internment camp?"

He considered, tilting his head. "Ah, I see. Y' hate shoppin', non?"

"Oui," she gritted out sardonically, staring at the white series of buildings lit up with lights with loathing.

Gambit shrugged, which was a difficult feat with the trenchcoat pulled over his head. "Didn't feel right 'bout leavin' de bike anyways. Y' stay 'ere, I'll steal t'ings."

She sat up straight. "Hell, no! Yah'll pick out something-"

He looked her up and down. "Green, black, an' y' want it t' cover y' up." He flashed a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don' worry. Won' deny I'm a bastard, but 'm not cruel, chere." He hopped off the motorcycle, pulled his trenchcoat back on properly, and scanned the area. Remy nodded his head in a certain direction. "Dere's some shelter o'er dere. Meetcha dere in a flash." He lifted his brows at her and jogged off towards the entryway, hurrying it to a sprint as the cold sleet struck him.

Rogue blinked. To her amazement, she found herself hoping she hadn't hurt his feelings. Revving the motorcycle, she picked up a rush of speed as she headed over to the covered floor of the concrete parking ramp. She shouldn't care. She pushed people, and Remy was the sort who pushed back. He was easy to misread though, and frankly, he was doing all too well at keeping her in the dark. He hadn't really told her anything real about himself. She didn't even know the name of the cousin they were to meet in Quebec. By the same token, he knew almost everything there was about her that was of any factual importance. It made her uneasy, not to really have her secrets protected.

She stopped the motorcycle and stared at the dirty concrete above her head. She didn't know him. She didn't _trust_ him.

And yet she couldn't think of a single word he'd spouted from his lips, which had undoubtedly spun more than their share of lies, that she hadn't bought.

That annoyed her.

**Ah don't like him.**

Rogue had a sudden, mental image of Bobby Drake rolling his eyes, and a fainter voice replied, **_That's 'cos you digged her and you're thinking she digs him._**

"What?" Rogue snapped dangerously.

**_I didn't say you do, just that's why he doesn't. Heck, Cody doesn't even like me much, do you?_**

**If he says dude one more time…**

**_Please, man. I play hockey. I check people. You punt. You think you're gonna take me?_**

"Don't even think about trying to start a fight in my head. You're just… thoughts!" Rogue sputtered.

**_Yeah, well, didn't you ever watch cartoons, Rogue?_**

_She watches cartoons…._

**_I'm not talking to you, Irene! Thoughts argue all the time! Devil on the left shoulder, angel on the right…_**

**It's the othah way around.**

**_Who cares? And it's not. I'm right. But, as I was saying…_**

"Shuddup," Rogue ordered, rubbing her forehead. A few giggling teenage girls coming out of the rain towards their car skittered away from her.

**_Even me, Rogue?_** The Bobby-psyche made a mock whimpering sound. **_But I've only got these idiots to talk to since you've got the French babe locked up tight-_**

"Cajun," she corrected, wincing. She seemed to be surrounded by blackness, and she could practically see hazy outlines of the two, arguing from sprawled, seated positions.

**_Same difference. _**

**One's from New Orleans, an' the other's from France. How come ah'm the idiot again, Bobby?**

**_Because everyone know it's the football players who are the lunkheads, all right? Now excuse me, I'm having a conversation here. …Do you watch The Simpsons, Rogue?_**

She didn't answer.

**….Ah like the Road Runner.**

**_The one that goes meep, meep? No! Wile Coyote, all the way. He's going to eat that bird someday._**

**That's awful!**

**_Rogue? You with me on this?_**

She was wincing and clutching her head. "Yeah, yeah, an' Sylvester deserves ta eat Tweety and Tom should eat Jerry!"

**_Or is it Jerry who should eat Tom? Never could tell them apart…._**

"Y' all right, chere?" came a concerned voice, and suddenly a real, solid grip landed on her shoulders. The voices scattered into the depths of her head.

"Rogue?" he insisted, getting her to look straight at him.

She rubbed her eyes slightly, and pulled away, straightening. "Yeah, ah'm all right." She stared at him. "That was fast."

He pulled a face, surprised. "No, it wasn't."

**_Rogue, someone's fiddling with your head. Otherwise you wouldn't be hearing us so loud…_**

**Yeah, there's a couple times ah've been shouting and not getting through…**

**_There's someone else in here…_**

**They're distracting yah with us…**

"The psyches think somebody's messing with mah mind," she burst out furiously, rubbing her forehead as if that would help.

Remy's face clenched. "God damn spooks- was afraid o' dis. De psyche t'ing 'um, dey're de residue of de minds y' absorbed, non? Can y'-"

"Ah can handle this," she told him, face furious as she rose to her feet. She closed her eyes tightly. "Got enough in mah head already…"

She couldn't see the bewildered look he gave her. "Can I help?"

"Ah've got it," she said tightly. "Jus'… jus' keep me from toppling over, all right?"

"Dat I can do…"

His voice rang hollowly, from a distance, because suddenly she seemed to be standing on grass, near a river, even though it was dark. She blinked, but she didn't really feel herself blink anymore than she would in a dream. She whirled around and saw behind her, shrouded in the darkness, a familiar looking house with a freshly painted swing dangling from a live oak tree with crisp ropes.

"So this is mah mind," she said flatly. "Cheery."

"Oh, I don't know, it grows on you," Bobby's voice rang out. Rogue whirled with the same odd sensation of not really turning to see a slightly translucent version of the boy she'd met, dressed fully in iced-over hockey gear, including skates and helmet. A rather more solid-looking Cody waved uncertainly behind him, in a sweater and jeans.

"This is just scary," Rogue muttered, staring at them.

"Your mother-person's around somewhere," not-the-real-Bobby commented. "The cop's been trying to shoot us, the bouncer-lady faded away, and the assassin's behind that door."

"What door?" Rogue asked suspiciously.

"That one," Bobby-psyche answered, and pointed to a dark, heavily bolted door with nothing behind it or around it that hadn't been there a minute ago. "You'll probably have to deal with her eventually. She swears at us every once in a while."

"What about the, uh, spook?"

The two psyches exchanged looks, which Rogue felt shouldn't have been possible.

"Around?" Cody offered lamely, shrugging.

Rogue's eyes narrowed and her fists balled. "That's not helpin' any," she muttered. "This is mah head," she yelled to the darkness at large. "And ah know which thoughts aren't part of it!" That was a lie, but it sounded good.

"Otherwise we probably would be part of your actual thoughts rather than psyches," Bobby suggested eagerly. This earned him looks. "Hey, _part_ of my mind is awake during school," he said defensively.

Rogue closed her eyes on them, ignoring this as well. She stared at the darkness on the inside of her lids. It's all just a way of dealing with it… she told herself. Voices that weren't supposed to be there… putting them all in one place is the only way to keep from going crazy.

She tried to zero in on what was out of place, focusing on all the thoughts she had at the moment that she could find. Images flashed through her head- Irene, the motorcycle, Gambit, a train, knives- lots and lots of knives, some she didn't remember seeing, the Musketeers of the movie she'd seen, an old picture of Captain America, Capta- that was wrong. She didn't have a brother who she'd played make-believe games with as a child who always insisted on being Captain Britain and never gave her a turn. That was Wrong.

She opened her eyes, but didn't feel them flutter open, just saw a vague image of Bobby and Cody starting in surprise that she dismissed.

She swiveled without feeling any real ground beneath her, and shoved against the darkness. A young woman with shockingly purple hair tumbled away and onto the ground.

Rogue stared at her, shocked.

"Youch," she exclaimed in a tone that suggested she was indeed in pain, along with her expression. "Good show," she commented in a voice with a recognizable British accent that rang in Rogue's head.

She blinked, and was staring at the concrete, still listening to the voice. It had a supreme clarity none of the voices in her head did.

'You shut me out good and well,' the voice said in a tone that sounded supremely annoyed and not a little bit put-out.

Remy, she realized, was staring at her with a measure of alarm, and had his hand much too close to his cheek, as if he were debating letting her absorb him, which, she suspected, he probably was. Rogue batted his hand away, giving him a stay-out-of-this look, or at least what she hoped was one.

'Would you believe I was actually trying to help you?'

"No," Rogue said tonelessly.

'Well, it's your own fault, then. Though I suppose if your defenses can handle me, they can handle anyone," the voice said with the faintest touch of smugness, which it dropped as soon as it realized it held it. 'Frost'll take an interest in you sooner or later though. Considering your company- who is quite scrumptious from what I sa-'

Rogue interrupted. "Ah don' need ta hear this. Realleh."

'You should at least let me warn you about J-'

"OUT!" Rogue snapped, and her head reeled for a moment as the memories of her psyches surged at the spook.

She paused, looking around, seeing only Remy slouched against the bike, one eyebrow quirked. She held up her finger to shush him before he spoke, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The silence was refreshing.

She looked at him unhappily. "Why didn't the spook-"

"Telepath," he amended.

"Bother you?" she finished, annoyed.

He shrugged. "Don' know. Can't get in mon head. Why de Sabretooth wanted me after Frost- she de one messin' wit' y'?"

"No," she said with a frown. "She was English."

"T'ink Frost is English," he offered, though he sounded considerably uncertain.

"She have purple hair?"

"Ah," he said, nodding. "No."

"Any id-"

"No." He considered. "Jolie?"

"Who's that?"

Remy shook his dark hair. "Nah, mean, was she pretty?"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "'Bout your age. Called you scrumptious."

His other eyebrow shot up to join the still quirked first. "Really?"

"Enough to make me sick," she muttered, looking at his cocky expression. Then she noticed the white bag. "Hey!" Rogue exclaimed, pouncing at it.

He held it over her head.

"Give it," she demanded, suspicious he'd gotten her something low cut and pink just for kicks.

"What's de magic word?"

"Please," she said tightly, noticing for the first time that he wore a clean, shiny looking scarlet shirt, potentially silk, and dark, snug fitting pants of what appeared at a glance to be a thick material. The trench coat, of course, was still present.

Wincing prematurely, she yanked out black pants of a material that felt suspiciously smooth to be as hard-wearing as she'd expected and a long-sleeved green shirt that looked slightly shoulder baring with a thickly gauzy shirt of black attached to it that went over. The gauze was smooth and far too close together to be fish-net, hallelujah, and looked as if it would reach right to the base of her neck, if not above, with what seemed to be thin black ribbon lining the very edge of the neck and sleeves.

He smirked at her, daring her to reject it.

She looked it over carefully, determining the under-half of the shirt wasn't at all as shoulder baring as she first assumed, reaching quite high and revealing only the merest edge of the shoulder blades, which would be covered by the gauze anyways, and on top of that, her bomber jacket. "It's acceptable," she said grudgingly.

"Bien," he said readily, with a slight grin. He nodded. "Passed a bathroom dat way."

"How long was ah- out of it?" she asked hesitantly, concerned.

He blinked. "'Bout a minute or two. Ot'erwise I'd have done somet'in, obviously."

She shook her head in disbelief as he slid out a pair of sunglasses, flipped them open with a flick of his hand, and placed them carefully on. "Now, chere," he said carefully, with a pleading hint to his voice. "Y' look like yo' could use a drink."

Rogue eyed him for a moment, then glanced at the weather which was rapidly becoming hail. "A bar with a television?" she insisted.

"'Course," he said with abject relief, as he tossed her a black baseball cap.

"You spend a lot of yah nights in bars, hmm?" She caught the cap and looked at it with distaste.

"'Gain, o'course. Not t' suggest y' crampin' my style or anyt'in," he added slyly, steering her in the direction of the ladies' room.

Without the slightest twinge of guilt, she elbowed him, hard. Assuming he probably deserved it, he didn't object further than an indignant look.

"""""""""""""""""""

They weren't the only ones who could use a drink.

Across the pond, the spook who'd been rudely shoved out of Rogue's head resisted the impulse to bang her head against the bar for the sole reason that'd make it hurt more than it already did.

The young girl next to her, with spunky hair of a pale reddish shade and a pretty face with innocent eyes and a rather small nose, silently handed her an ice pack with a look of sympathy. The same sweet girl whirled with a snarl as an older man tapped her shoulder to offer to buy her a drink. She knew the scent of a predator.

The third member of their party halted in the middle of the drinking song he was bellowing along with some of his fellow countrymen to catch the man before he fell over. "Bad luck, chap," he said cheerfully, winking at the girl, before shoving the gentleman elsewhere. "She's always a little grouchy this time of month."

He then turned back, running his fingers through his reddish-blond hair and beckoning the bartender over. "'Nother Guinness for me, 'nother one for the lady, and, erm, a milk for the colleen?" he asked with something of question in his thick brogue.

""M nae a cat, Sean," the girl hissed back.

He rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers again, to the man's supreme annoyance. "What sort of drink be ye wantin' then, luv?"

The girl looked shocked, and nervously tugged at the short pigtails her hair was forced in. "Ye shouldna be offering me that, I'm not of age," she muttered softly, not wanting him to get in trouble with the bartender.

The man blinked at her discomfort. "I'm not offering ye that sort of drink!" he exclaimed, looking to the heavens in disbelief. "Begorrah! Get the girl a water, man, she canna find a fault with that!"

Their companion lifted her head, which sent her semi-short hair tumbling down and over, veiling her right eye. Had she not parted it that way, it would have fallen straight down and reached midway to her neck. She blew it out of the way, or tried to, since it was too thick to budge by her breath. After a moment, she brushed it out of her almond-shaped eyes, revealing her pretty features. When working away from England, it struck some people- particularly Americans- as odd that an unmistakably Asian girl should have a British accent. That endlessly annoyed her, as the clip of her tone led people to often automatically assume she would be blond haired, blue eyed, and ask any moment to have a spot of tea, jolly good! At the moment, however, she received no odd looks except from the occasional Irishman still not too fond of the English, though they were getting rarer these days. She took the drink sent to her with mild enthusiasm and began to promptly down it.

Sean settled down next to her, blowing the foam of the top of his Guinness with childish relish. "So, how old was the girl again, Bets?"

She shot him a scathing look over her glass, which she continued to drink before putting it down and clapping the icepack back to her head. "Probably Rahne's age, Sean, and you know perfectly well what she's capable of."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, but wasn't it jus' the other day ye were sayin' how ye're the most dangerous of us lot, bein-"

"I quite recall what I said at the time, _luv_," she replied in icy tones. Then she cracked a grin. "Still, it's almost worth it for the puss on Fury's face when we rang him up to say no good!"

"Wonder what cat and mouse game the man's playing with the little lass," Sean mused, sipping his drink slowly and half-listening to the songs being sung to his left.

The young woman noticed his occupation. "Get a bit drunker first, Cassidy," she advised. "No song starting with 'As I was walking' is intended to be sung sober."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You're improving, Braddock. I thought ye were of the opinion no Irish song's _intended_ to be sung sober, 'cause my lot never are."

She cast a sly glance at him. "You're far soberer overall than I am, so I can't tease you about that anymore."

He stared into the depths of his glass. "Well, I know my limits," he said quietly. He looked over at the Scottish girl, who was surreptitiously looking at a boy not much older than her with a dark red blush coloring her cheeks. "Enjoying your water, Rahne?" he called cheekily.

She gave him a dark look, or the closest she could muster to it. "I'd ha' liked a soda just fine, thank ye."

"The Good Lord wouldn't object t' the bubbles?" he responded, feigning shock.

Rahne exchanged a look with the purple-haired young woman, who dropped an encouraging wink. "No, but he might object t' ye bringing that lady up t' yer room the night before last."

His mouth dropped the merest margin in surprise before he laughed. "Betsy's corruptin' ye mind, sweetheart," he said teasingly. "I was only showin' her my collection of wee boats in bottles!"

"That one's actually been tried on me before," Betsy commented lightly, signaling with a quick hand gesture to Rahne that the man was not, in fact, serious, since she seemed uncertain. "Get her to talk to the boy," she muttered to Sean quietly.

"Not on yer life," he said threateningly, casting a dismissive glance at the young man who seemed quite admiring of the shiny new red lip gloss Betsy had her wearing.

Betsy looked exasperated. "She's growing up, S-"

He cut her off, changing topic. "Think the girl's psychic shield's 'll hold better than the one's you were trying to place?"

She tapped her glass in consideration. "Possibly, possibly not. Her friend's mental shield's are airtight, I couldn't lay a finger on his mind." Her darkly glossed lips curved slightly in bemusement.

"No one should e'er dangle a challenge before your nose," Sean commented with a mild groan. With that smile, it meant Betsy'd try again, sooner or later, and that she'd probably eventually crack the poor fellow's cranium. One way or the other.

"Fury really needs a proper telepath," she added. "The balance is very unevenly tipped in that arena in the scales of Emma Frost, and the White Queen's worrisome."

"Not our problem," Sean said definitively.

"Yet," Betsy retorted. "And I may go for the man's other eye if he attempts one more time to entice me to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s little mutant team."

"Hey," her companion said accusingly. "I wouldna want them calling us S.T.R.I.K.E.'s little mutant team, so watch yer mouth. Fury's got men – and women," he added hastily, "everywhere!"

A redhead with green eyes sat down next to him with a smile that immediately drew his attention. "Buy me a drink?" she asked casually in polished English that betrayed no hint of her origin.

The Irishman took one look at her. "Sure thing," he answered, grinning, and winked at Betsy who in response immediately moved several seats away.

She wondered absently about the girl and what interest Fury might have in attempting to protect her location from prying minds. Her slight precognitive abilities weren't picking up anything in particular, but she had an odd feeling the effort was not only futile, but that she, personally, would be crossing paths with the girl again. And hopefully her traveling companion, too. Quite an eyeful, him.

Absently, as her drink was refilled, she looked up at the TV, displaying events going on in America. "You," she said to the bartender immediately. "Turn that up!"

""""""""""""""""""""

The clink of a cue sinking a ball into a corner pocket didn't register in Rogue's mind. She was too busy staring open mouthed at the screen. She'd taken the clicker from the bartender and refused to surrender it. Remy'd simply taken one look at it, downed another glass of double bourbon on the rocks a pretty woman had paid for, and begun a pool game which apparently involved demonstrating to a very eager brunette how to play and a bet of some cash he didn't have.

She ignored the slight static of the set and increased the volume, to the dismay of those trying to forget everything about the world outside their brimming glasses.

"-organization calling themselves the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. I believe the name speaks for itself, doesn't it, Trey? Back to you-"

She flipped the channel.

"-plosion of a genetic experimentation facility in California intended to prevent further mutations- the note to the senator from this self-proclaimed brotherhood called it a center for the 'murder and exploitation of the yet unborn leaders of tommorow'-"

Rogue's thumb hit the worn button yet again.

"-206 dead, including an estimated 55 pregnant women, 71 more wounded-"

Her reflex in changing it this time was yet more rapid. She'd heard the facts thrice already. That wasn't what she was looking for. She skimmed through the news channels rapidly, beginning again, until she passed it, caught herself, and went back.

Rogue's breath caught in her throat as the tape was replayed. The center exploding from within, the National Guard showing up to stop the self-proclaimed mutant terrorists, including several nervous looking teenagers, from broadcasting on the spot on a hijacked frequency.

The young man in the fishbowl helmet sending a tremor through the ground at them, with a somewhat apologetic wave at first which he remembered to turn into a menacing scowl.

The girl decked in scarlet leather and a scowl that rivaled her own sending their guns flying in the air with a hand gesture and pelting the one tank with brilliantly red glowing bolts.

The onscreen greenish blur that left men knocked over or tied up in its tracks which when halted to flash dazzling grins at the camera or after being pelted by a red bolt from the dark-haired girl became a skinny teenager with surprisingly neatly arranged, possibly slicked, white hair that seemed to point up in a V in front.

And, of course….

Her.

Talking loudly at the camera although her words weren't being broadcasted, speaking passionately and railing at humanity, wearing a white outfit and a small skull at the top center of her forehead. Not to mention, of course, her deeply blue skin and slick straight, fire-red hair.

"-Congress is expected to reach a decision of what to do about the mutant pr-"

Rogue flicked the channel to WWF wrestling, which led to an approving cheer from the man on the stool next to her. She handed him the clicker, face blank.

Then she whirled and stalked over to where Gambit was eyeing a shot, which he took and sunk perfectly, leaving only the 8-ball and almost all of the striped balls of his latest victim. He laughed uproariously and didn't seem to notice the woman trying to hand him another drink.

He saw her coming and tried to wink, but didn't seem able to manage it. Rogue blinked with surprise when she noticed he was swaying slightly.

"Hey," she barked to those near him as he began to line up his shot for the 8-ball. "How many's he had?"

Remy turned again, probably blinking owlishly at her beneath his sunglasses. "Not mo' den eight," he slurred, holding up seven fingers.

Rogue considered this, then put her hands on her hips and stared at the women crowding around the pool table and the men he was playing. "All right," she demanded furiously. "Who put something in his drink?"

This got a round of laughter, which Remy joined in. This neither amused nor appeased her. She grabbed his arm and started to steer him away. "We're leaving, now," she stormed, practically sizzling. Her eyes flashed danger from underneath her pathetically blank black baseball cap. She cursed herself for not paying attention to what he was doing.

"We're playing, here!" a man interjected, leaping to his feet. "He can't ju-"

"Ah'm sure he doesn't owe y'all money," she said flatly. "An' ah'm thinking you're delusional if yah think you'll win any off him, even in this state."

"De fille got a point," Remy added, sagging against her. Rogue shoved him upright, scowling.

"Why should he go with you?" a curvy brunette said indignantly, moving forward. Rogue scanned her with a contemptuous glance. Clearly not big in the brains department, she was guessing. "Who're you t-"

"Ah'm his-" Rogue burst out, then paused. "Sister?" she offered, unable to keep the slightly unsure note out of her voice because it was immediately apparent in any case that this was a complete falsehood, the vaguest similarities being only Southern accents and hair color approaching the same shade from opposite directions.

Gambit glanced at her. "Shuh hope not," he said, with something of a leer. She'd have hit him, hard, but suspected he'd keel over if she did so and well aware (if reluctant to admit) she wasn't strong enough to shoulder the full dead weight of a grown man.

"Ah'm the girl he came with, anyhow, and ah'm sure as hell gonna be the one he leaves with," Rogue said, stopping Remy before he returned his glass to his lips. She snatched it and examined it carefully, though to no real effect, since such things were typically relatively undetectable by a purely empirical examination.

Without Rogue's arm gripping his, Remy attempted to return to the pool table, stumbling into it.

A good-looking blond girl motioned to Rogue, who looked up. "He did have my drink?" she offered warily. She cast a suspicious glance at the man with a sour expression next to her who was supposedly her date. He, noticing eyes suddenly on him, sunk in his seat uncomfortably and began denying accusations before he heard them.

"Great goin', Gumbo," Rogue muttered to him, before realizing he was now toying with the eight ball. She shook her head, wondering how long he'd stay conscious, and yanked him away again.

She adjusted her coat as she steered him along, ignoring the girls waving good-bye to him.

"Chere?" he said confusedly as they walked into the night air and were immediately pelted by hail.

"Which one?" Rogue asked, with the faintest edge of bitterness.

"Rogue," he amended, holding out his hand, which contained a pinkly glowing light ball. "Can't m-make de charge go 'way-"

"Gah!" she yelped, yanking it out of his hand at once and hurling it into the sky. It was sheer luck it continued upward without ramming into any of the multiple balls of hail among the sleet. Rogue began to quietly mutter what she could remember of the Our Father as it rose to its peak and began to fall, but before it had dropped by much it exploded in the air in a burst of light.

Gambit tried to applaud the firework, but his hands missed each other by quite a bit. He stumbled, toppling Rogue and himself over onto the sidewalk.

She shoved him off, in a ferociously bad mood. "Yah had to have a drink," she snarled, finding herself looking into his eyes, which seemed nearly black as the red iris seemed to have dilated slightly, along with the barely visible black pupil hidden in its center which reflected her face squashed and upside down.

He brightened, his mouth opening to undoubtedly ask for another drink. "

She shoved his sunglasses back on his face, where they perched crookedly, and got behind him to shove him along. "Ah don' think yah'll even be able to hold on," she griped. "Much less hotwire the bike again."

"Absorb me," he offered casually, with a smirk that came off crooked due to his inebriety.

She shook her head. "Ah'm as likely ta get the words to Frere Jacques as ah am that."

"Don' e'en t'ink I know de words…" he mused, smiling in his own little world. "'Cept de ones me an' Emil made up… an' I don' t'ink y' like dose…"

"'Kay," she said, sitting him down on the bench. "Now, we're gonna play a little game," she said with a tight smile, moving his hands into the air with her own gloved hands and straightening his palms so they were out flat. "Yah sit here just like this 'till I come back, and try counting the names of the folks after you or me who we hope don't show up while yah're outta yah bloomin' head!"

He tilted his head curiously, sending the glasses lower on his nose and completely revealing his eyes. "Too many names," he complained, though obediently keeping his hands out. "Jus' ssssit hhere," he slurred.

"An' keep yah hands out," she reminded him fiercely. "That's very important, here?" Ducking away, she hurried over to where they'd parked the motorcycle and tried to remember exactly what she'd seen him do several times. Carefully, she pulled off her gloves and fiddled with the wires at the surface, jerking back with annoyance as she received a slight spark to her fingers. Recalling the way his hands had moved, she closed her eyes and hoped she wouldn't fry herself, then entwined the wires together.

The blessed, blessed motor started up.

Climbing onto the motorcycle, she sped immediately back to where Remy was sitting, relatively unconscious but with his hands still in the air. She could barely see through the thick balls of ice raining down, but it was manageable. Rogue considered absently he could have been knocked further senseless by a large chunk of hail, but dismissed the thought.

With a groan, Rogue got off the running bike and shook him, remembering to slide her gloves back on first just in case. When this produced nothing, she slapped him. It surprised her how much satisfaction that gave her. She was more of a right hook kind of girl, but there was something to this slapping business. He jerked upright, kind of, moaning though without opening his eyes. With difficulty, she aided him in getting on the motorcycle then considered the debacle. If she stuck him on back, he'd probably fall off; on front she couldn't see over him. Eventually she climbed on behind him and nudged him to the side so she could see relatively clearly again.

She tried to remember the layout of the town, but a place to go popped immediately into her head.

A place with little to no security besides a lock.

A place she'd be comfortable at.

The library.

Quickly, Rogue raced through the town, until at last she spotted a squat brownstone building, windows dark but with bookshelves visible anyways. Quieting the roar of the motorcycle, she pulled in around back, tucking it in the large nook by the Book Drop, and resolved to get out of there long before the library opened.

"Cajun!" she hissed, dragging him off the bike with his heels dragging on the ground behind him. At least he was very lean, despite his broad shoulders. Had he been any heavier she'd have been in trouble.

He stirred, slightly, as they neared the small back door. Of course there was a back door, Rogue thought with relief, for ordered books to come in and librarians to get out quicker. "Lockpicks?" she insisted, yanking the sunglasses off so as to better wake him up.

Staggering upright, he reached into his breast pocket and presented them to her with a flourish, then crumpled against the Book Drop.

She steered him back towards the door, pulling what looked like a thin metal toothpick out of the extremely worn brown leather case with a tiny zipper.

Gambit nodded uncertainly, leaned against the door with his arm and head resting against it, and inserted the pick with one hand. He twiddled it once, turned it like a key, and then flopped forward as the door turned inward when Rogue eagerly grabbed the knob.

With a glare at his frame, she helped him up. Two stairs up, and they were in the office of the head librarian, which had a carpet. Leaving him there on the floor, she headed back outside and popped the compartment they had found. She ignored the painful hail which continued to pelt her in the head.

Within was the blanket they'd found earlier, along with the diary, which they had crammed in later which Remy had been glad to move from his coat. Relieved, she pulled it out, which unfolded it as she did so. Something metallic clanged to the ground.

Unsure, she picked the slim silver chain created by tiny little balls joined together and turned the dogtags towards her so she could see in the light of the moon. They were slightly rusty and dented, but she could plainly read the words The Wolverine on one, the name Logan on the other. She stared at the metal in her gloved palm uncertainly and moved to pocket it, but instead slipped the chain over her head for a reason she couldn't discern. Reluctant to leave the diary, Rogue snatched it but resisted the temptation to thumb through it.

She spent a few minutes adjusting the motorcycle as best she could to conceal it from view, then headed back inside. Rogue hoped there wasn't an alarm, but decided she didn't give a damn even if there was. She stalked in, barely refraining from slamming the door behind her, prepared to bring Gambit to sobriety with water if she had to and give him a piece of her mind.

He was stretched on the floor, head elevated slightly against the desk in a position that probably wasn't comfortable, his sunglasses off in one hand. His eyes were closed, revealing eyelashes so long and dark that it might be said they were wasted on a boy, though to say that about him would be a lie. The steady, hypnotic rhythm of his breathing gave her pause, and she couldn't help but notice how it was mimicked by the rise and fall of his chest.

He didn't really look boyish in his sleep. He could do that well enough when awake, with the right smirk and in the right light. He didn't look drawn and weary either, as he had after fighting Belle. A few lines were visible here and there, though the rounded curve of his cheek betrayed his youth, as did the locks of hair which fell across his features.

Rogue bit the inside of her cheek, feeling unreasonably furious. She spread out the blanket with a snap. "Damn you, LeBeau," she cursed, throwing the blanket over him. It drifted gently down to cover him, even his face. "Why'd yah have ta be born so pretty?"

She couldn't resist the urge to kick the desk as she yanked off her bomber jacket. She balled it up and stuck it behind his head, simply because she'd heard awful stories about drunks choking to death and the desk would leave him with a headache that he'd gripe about tomorrow, not that he already wouldn't. Neither act stirred him in the slightest.

Rifling through the desk drawers in the near blackness, Rogue eventually found a flashlight, and with it, a radio. Intending to turn it to the news, she marched off into the stacks of books, and although it was remarkably immature and she couldn't believe she did it, turned to stick her tongue out at his sleeping form before storming away. One of them had to stay awake. Didn't mean that one had to act grown-up.

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The family room was silent. As for the boy on the left side of the plush couch, his blue eyes were going to pop out of his head if they got any wider. Bobby shifted in his seat, feeling as if someone had walked over his grave. Ronnie sat as straight as if a poker had been shoved up his ass, looking everywhere but at Bobby. It was possible that threatening to insure he'd never have nieces and nephews with his ice powers should his brother confess the secret to his parents had not been Bobby's brightest of ideas, but he wasn't thinking of that now….

He'd never heard of this man before tonight. Trask. What a dumb name. He'd been in the papers, apparently. His parents knew about him. High-ranking government guy. Bobby'd never heard of them. He hated him already.

"I have created a defense for mankind!" he explained to the newscaster interviewing him. Bobby tuned him out for a moment, absorbed in furious thoughts about definitely being a member of mankind.

"The mutants will never take over the human race now!" the mustachioed face on TV pronounced.

"Lunatic," Bobby muttered.

His father and mother gave him confused and scolding looks. Ronnie looked away.

"Not while my new army of Sentinels lives!"

Bobby bolted upright from where he was slouched on the couch as the camera panned across a very large robotic construction and its friends. Frantically, he began to cough unstoppably as Trask discussed their deployment across the nation, to ferret out the mutants of dangerous ability while there was still time. How he advised people not to get in their way.

He didn't hear whether they were intended to kill or not. Mentally, with a frantic look around his house and at his family, glued to the TV, he was already packing his bags.

"""""""""""""""""""""

The bar was silent, though Trask wasn't. On screen, he told them about his mutant-hunting robot army, how they were completely under his control, how they would be operating.

A man sitting at a stool, like the others watching the robots on screen, studied them carefully. Slowly, he stood as if uncoiling muscle. Eyes squinted, he puffed on his cigar.

No one paid the slightest bit of attention to the muffled shrieks from someone in the tiny bathroom.

Knocking a bit of the charred end of the cigar off, he let it slide to the end of his mouth. With a nod to the barkeep and a flip of a coin into the tip box, he crammed his hands into his pockets and walked outside.

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The pub had gone completely silent. Momentarily, only, before they began to discuss the unsurprising insanity of the Americans and how quickly it could be presumed to spread. For the moment, though, it was still, with every eye on the screen blaring BBC news.

Finally, a man with a voice that could not help but ring throughout the pub, pitch-perfect, broke the silence.

"Aw, shit."

It was followed immediately by the unlikely voice of a slim Scottish girl. "Fock," she snarled, her accent marred as her teeth elongated and sharpened in her anger.

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It wasn't silent in a certain section of the facility belong to S.H.I.E.L.D. The man could hardly believe his one good eye. He was afraid something like this would happen, but he'd only just got wind of the Sentinel project! How could it have progressed so far without his knowing? He gritted his teeth, suspecting a great deal of funding had been funneled into it rapidly as he'd recently been looking into the matter of where some of his government funding had gone.

Loudly, he cursed, startling the babbling group of young folk and teenagers behind him in awe and fear of him. He didn't turn as they began to hesitantly put forth questions. The slight growl he let out cut them off.

"Where's your leader?" he demanded of the foundling team called X-Factor.

They cowered from him slightly, involuntarily backing away and tripping over each other. They exchanged glances, as he waited for one of them to answer.

A boy with shaggy blond hair raised his hand somewhat cautiously. "Sir?" he tried.

Fury looked at him impatiently.

He swallowed. "Outside, ah think, sir."

The man blinked at the boy in confusion. "Why?" he barked.

"Revelin' in the weather, sir," the boy offered.

"Well, fetch her!" Fury roared, and they stumbled away. "Not all of you," he added in what he thought was a gentler voice. "Get ready. There'll be rioting."

"Where?" a girl with raven black hair questioned softly.

He scoffed as he headed for his cigar box. "Where else but New York?" he questioned in a deeply cynical tone.

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He stirred to wakefulness, not by a noise but by an impulse of feeling that led him to jerk upright and reach instinctively for a weapon. He realized quickly enough he was in an unfamiliar place in complete darkness and that his head was pounding with a dreadful, constant beat that sent it throbbing.

Placing on arm against the ground, he shifted upwards, examining his surroundings with his eyes, the red shrouded in the dark. Some kind of office, with tacky little doodads on the desk. He frowned, confused. Steadily, he climbed to his feet, wondering absently how he'd ended up in such a state. Sure, he'd mixed his drinks a little- well, maybe a lot, if he counted the tequila- but typically it took a bit more than that to get a drink. He may not have a healing factor like Sabretooth- blast him- but Gambit's got a pretty hard head, he thought to himself. Finding his sunglasses in his hand, he slipped them into his pocket, hoping his eyes hadn't frightened someone and landed him in hot water.

Remy, feeling something fall behind him as his frame no longer supported it, turned with a frown to pick it up. His hands met rough leather. The bomber jacket.

Rogue.

She was going to kill him, he realized, running his hand through his hair. Shaking his head as he realized there was nothing to be done about it but apologize for whatever the hell had happened, he lurched a bit before regaining his balance fully as he opened the door.

Slowly, he padded out into a world of books that gave him something of a start. He peered at them with surprise. There were old books with yellowing pages and a musty scent, but there were far more new, neatly pressed books with shiny laminated covers he ran his fingers past as he went along.

Spying a faint light, he headed towards it immediately, craning his head around the shelves. Catching sight of her shadow, he paused several feet behind where she sat, her back to him, on a plush chair meant to be comfortable but with all the softness of a wooden plank.

For a second, he thought she might be asleep. From her silhouette, he could see she'd pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, covering her face with folded arms. The lit flashlight was placed on a table with magazines next to her along with a radio and a book placed down open to save the page. She wasn't making the slightest sound, though, not even a sniffle.

It took him a moment to realize her shoulders were shaking. He stood stock still for a considerable bit longer before he realized she was crying.

This, he realized, could be awkward.

With a manner considerably more tentative then he was accustomed to using around women, he took a step closer, careful to insure he made a sound against the carpet. "Rogue?" he tried softly.

Her head lifted and she tried to frantically, surreptitiously dry her face by making the motion of rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Yah up?" she asked unnecessarily in a tone far more raspy than usual.

"Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably, sinking his hands into his pockets. "Somet'in wrong?"

She turned, forcing a glower, and he could see that despite her efforts her pale face was red, nose redder. Streaks remained on her cheeks where tears had fallen, probably for some time, and her green eyes, deeper in the dark, still swelled with tears. "Ah'd say so," she snapped, brushing her glove against her eyes again and jerking her hand at the radio. "They're sending killer robots after mutants 'cause mah – 'cause mutant terrorists blew up some kinda clinic in California-"

He nodded, moving closer. "Yeah. De one near Valle Soleada, non? Lot a mutant birth's 'round dere. Not everyone too keen on it….. Wasn't a good place, Rogue."

"Did the folk there deserve to die?" she retorted, looking fit to hurl the book at him.

He shook his head. "No. Ain't anybody who deserve it."

"Ah dunno," she said darkly, turning away and busying herself with trying to get the radio back on. "It shut off. The weather's too bad for any kinda reception, ah guess." She pointed her finger at him. "One of them giant robots comes and tries ta blow us up, ah'm blamin' yah. We'd be across the Canadian border by now if- Gawd! You kept makin' us stop, for one thing or the other-"

"Rogue, we'd a been caught in dat," he said, gesturing to the window through which a curtain of thick hail could be seen.

"But all yah were thinkin' about was gettin' drunk and keepin' up whatever carousin' yah been doin' for the past year!" she continued accusingly, folding her arms and sinking back in the chair. She grabbed the flashlight and shoved the book in front of her face.

He looked down and away from her. "Oui," he said thickly, feeling guilty. "Wasn't thinkin'."

"Yah bet your ass yah weren't," Rogue retorted, bringing the book up even higher and closer to her face.

Remy reached out and tipped the book down, revealing her angry, tear-filled eyes. He reached a gloved finger out to brush away a tear. She jerked away, shoving him back. "'Tain't on my account, chere?" he asked quietly, perching on the edge of the chair.

She looked surprised and managed a coarse laugh. "'Course not," she said fiercely, putting the book between them again. She didn't look up. "Move, yah're in mah light."

"Good," he said with a nod, leaning around to get a better look at her. "'M not worth y' tears."

"No, you're not," she answered readily, scooting to the other side of her chair and flashing venom-laden eyes at him before turning the page of her book with extreme delicacy.

"Was afraid I might'a done somet'in stupid," he pressed on.

With an annoyed sigh and a swift swipe of her eyes with her sleeve, she looked up. "Nothin' about yah behaviour that ah wouldn't call stupid!"

Remy shook his head, looking away, then slid down, till he was slumped on the floor, head back against the bottom of the chair. "Meant like try t' kiss y' or somet'in," he muttered.

Rogue softly laughed, with the dangerous tone of someone who suspects they're being mocked. "Why would y' go an' try somethin' kamikaze like that for?" she demanded, ignoring him rather than hitting him with the book.

He raised and lowered his shoulder noncommittally, then turned his head up to look at her. "I was outta it. An' y' bel- beautiful, anyhow, can't deny dat."

"Don't try ta make a fool outta me," she hissed, getting up and moving to another chair. "Ah don't want yah tryin' ta fiddle with mah emotions with whatever charm yah think you got-"

He sprang to his feet in one smooth motion, shooting an indignant look at her. She returned to the book, not meeting his eyes. "C'mon, ah seen the kinda women yah like and ah can't say ah'm very impressed with yah taste, so don't try ta pull-"

"Dey nice on the eyes, oui," he said, not even noticing the slight smirk that played across his features. It fell away, though, before Rogue noticed. "You, chere, y' got somet'in of yo' own."

She looked up with a deadpan stare that suggested he might want to stop talking if he intended to keep his tongue. The brief silence was filled with the rattling of hail from outside.

He gestured at her, noticing how much paler and nearly translucent her skin seemed with only the dim flashlight and the faint moonlight seeping in through the window. "De kind o' beauty dat doesn't stun, but compels… de kind-"

He dodged the book she chucked at him. "Yah always wax poetic when drunk?" she snapped, rising to fetch the book which looked to be about… pirates. "Anyway, what in tarnation gives you the idea that if yah had tried somethin'- and believe meh, yah wouldn't be standing there if yah had- it would upset _me_? Ah wouldn't have that kinda interest in yah if you were the last damn fellow in the South or even the whole wide world- 'cause whatever yah think of yah looks, y-you're a cocky, arrogant- _slimy_-"

He held up his hands as he turned to fetch the book before she reached it. "I get it, I'm an annoyin' swamp snake an' y' only wit' me 'cause y' ain't got nowhere else t' turn. Didn' mean t' sound like I was makin' it about me." He hesitated. "I meant it might upset y' 'cause… 'cause-"

""Cause what?" she asked defiantly, snatching the book away and whirling on her heel.

"…'Cause y' can't."

She stopped dead, lips tightly compressed and face turning pale. She didn't turn back, but Remy suspected she was trying desperately to hold in tears. "Don' know what yah talkin' about," she managed at last, folding her arms tightly against the book. Her stiffened body posture suggested he'd die a very painful death if he so much as dared to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Saw de way y' were watchin' dose kids today," he said as lightly as he could manage.

"What, the god damn hellions we passed?" she retorted, selecting a seat facing away from him. "Leave me alone, alright? Ah don't wanna have ta deal with you right now."

"Y' new t' y' powers, Rogue. Don' panic about-"

"Oh, and you'd be the poster boy for control?" she practically snarled, jerking her face around to face him. "Hasn't it sunk inta your thick skull, Gambit! Ah escaped from a woman who sees the future-how d'yah think ah got away?" she wondered bitterly, waving her gloved hand. "Ah know how mah powers work- ah know what it means, all right? An' ah can live with that just fahne, an' ah don't need you buggin' me about it! Jus'- Go away!"

He ducked his head, stepped back with his hands up in mock surrender but stopped mid-turn. His red-on-black eyes glimmered at her in the dark. "Look, y'hurtin, an'-"

"Nothing's the matter!" she insisted furiously. Remy knew otherwise. _Everything's the matter._ "Let me read in peace for five minutes, why doncha! It's- 's jus' these lunatic Sentinels they're sendin' out, alright?" _That and Mystique- Ms. Darkholme!- blowin' up folk in California, and Irene betraying me, and my shoulder hurts- hell, everything hurts- and ah'm sick of having folk pointing knives at mah head, ah don't know where ah'm heading, and you're being a jackass, and ah might have killed a boy who didn't mean me anything but good, and ah hate the cold and ah'm still hungry and tired, and ah don't even know if mah thoughts are my own anymore, and my powers… well, life officially sucks and **Ah don't wanna talk about it!**_

He blinked at her stubborn face, jaw jutting out and daring him to try to push her to say what she was really thinking because then, since he apparently wanted it so much, she'd give him a piece of her mind…

He walked around to face her, slowly, unsure what to do. He'd made girls cry before, he'd had them hit him before, but he'd never been in a situation even approaching this. He'd never had a sister, otherwise he might be less of- well, a cad- in his interactions with women. He didn't know what to do, but he didn't think going away was the right thing no matter how much she didn't want him to see her cry. Of course, he was the _expert_ on the right thing…

Remy swallowed as she refused to look at him, tears still trickling down her cheeks. Her efforts to halt them were in vain, no matter how tightly she closed her eyes. Bending and sitting back on his heels to bring himself completely down to the level of the low chair, he reached out and clasped a hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes followed it. "Get your hand off meh," Rogue said in her lowest, most menacing tone.

"'M sorry," he said softly, wincing as he'd been indoctrinated never to lay a hand on a lady who didn't want to be handled, even if he didn't always follow those guidelines. "But no."  
She raised her hand to strike him, but he caught it, pulling her forward slightly. Rogue couldn't help the tears streaking down her cheeks as she tried to wrench herself away, droplets of water blurring the pained expression on his face.

She fought back the well of anger and hurt and sorrow for all the things she could never have and everything she lost, but it simply surged back with more strength for each time she beat it back. Consumed with exhaustion from the stress and her injuries, she gave in though she hated herself for doing it.

Brokenly, she broke into a sob which she still tried to force back as she tumbled forward as she stopped resisting his grip, knocking herself and Gambit back. She was too tired, too furious with herself for breaking down, especially in front of him, to notice how he caught his balance as carefully as he could to keep from hitting the floor.

He didn't notice her tears falling on his new shirt anymore than she, absorbed in her inner struggle, noticed her gloved hands gripping the lapel of his trenchcoat as if she were afraid she'd drift away if she let it go. She was falling asleep too quickly, too deeply, the storm of her tears matching the strength of the one outside, to remember later how he awkwardly ran his fingers through her tangled hair. Nor would she remember that he attempted to mutter what he could remember of a French lullaby he'd learned at the skirts of the woman he called his tante in the kitchen, only to give up after the first line. He was too frightened of a resurgence of the tears that still leaked from her tightly closed eyelids to shift in the slightest for hours.

Remy knew she wouldn't forgive him for seeing her like this. In fact, she might very well loathe him for it. The fragility she masked so well had sent an unpleasant jolt down his spine, and it seemed to him that some of her pain was trickling into him, calling up feelings he pushed aside. It reminded him of the way he used his charm to push feelings agreeing with his own onto others, but in a way that was distinctly less pleasant and certainly less scary. He just was fervently glad he'd grabbed clothes without any synthetic material since he wasn't sure if he'd be able to refrain from accidentally charging what he touched, having not done the greatest job with that so far.

It didn't surprise him that she didn't like him much, either. She was dead on. He wondered what else that mysterious book about him had to say about his future, which didn't look as if it would be filled with fluffy bunnies.

He was going to get her into trouble, he knew deep down. He suspected he was going to get them both killed… if she didn't first. But he felt certain about one thing, and it took him a moment to register the emotion tugging at him as guilt.

From his seated position, he looked down at the girl who might well murder him for cradling her in his arms.

However tough she acted, whatever she called herself, Rogue was far too innocent to be mixed up with the likes of him.

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Review response: **simba317**- Like your name. I can't even remember how many times I've seen that movie, especially as a kid…. Anyway, thanks for reviewing! Yeah, there's definitely some sparks between Remy and Rogue, although his issues w/ Belle are a bonfire in comparison. Catalyst to redemption…hmm, I like that… you'll have to wait and see. When Belle leaned in for the kill- approximately, it was intended to be 'there was a time I loved you more than life itself'- hence Remy's next line. Yeah, school business is definitely prohibiting writing, though I'll try to update once more before my vacation ends, assuming I get better. After that, my life's going to be crazy until mid-April and will definitely be no writing then… Remy could really use a hug, but Rogue's unlikely to give him one anytime soon… and really, it'd be hard not to enjoy half-naked Remy…;)- I appreciate your review immensely, hope you continue to like my story!

**ishandahalf**- you really liked my fight scene? Yea! I had fun w/ that… I love the action-y stuff, I blame my cousins for dragging me into their fights…The dream sort of was spur of the moment, since I kept starting and stopping before I found an opening that seemed to work, so I'm glad that went over well… I like archery, too, though my aim tends to be more of the 'up in the clouds when intended for that target, over there, and all run away before it comes down in somebody's foot'. My ten year old cousin has an actual bow, with actual arrows (brilliant idea, no?), so we use it at the beach and try not to accidentally shoot folk… your level of despising Belle is intensely amusing and makes much sense, she kind of knew he was around somewhere from Irene (otherwise she wouldn't have gotten spiffed up) but probably nearly had a heart attack when he burst out- which I simply couldn't resist though I had to fight to keep writing that scene rather than slipping off into lalaland. Couldn't resist the stilettos bit either, what with it also being the word for the knives... love all that gadgetry in the movies! Yeah, he had to get dressed 'cos it was such an up-close fight and even Belle would probably fail to retain her senses under those circumstances… yeah, superheroes, like, say Clark Kent have got to get itchy (since he definitely doesn't get fully changed in the phone booth)… I mean, how long can people buy, 'oh, um, my mother makes me wear long underwear that happens to be spandexy and the exact shade purple of Barney the dinosaur?' So yeah… but we definitely don't want much detail on their hygiene habits… the main problem w/ any show they attempt to set up in 'real time'… Remy'll start paying more attention to Rogue- but the last thing we want is for him to do that just 'cause she's around, right? Yep, he's definitely trying to play hero… and I really can't resist throwing in the Tante Mattie lines, 'cause she's so good and the very reason he's not a complete, ethic-less bastard but rather a well-meaning if torn guy a bit unsure of what side he's on… and you're dead on about the self-esteem issues… the diary isn't really important in this chapter, but will become extremely essential to the plot… Yup, morlock massacre, good catch- I kind of wonder where they intended that to go in Evo, what with Evan joining them and Remy not appearing in the smaller farther-future line-up of the X-Men… But that's what they're going to have to figure out, right? Whether they can change it or not or whether they'll end up all Oedipus-ish if they try… My update was probably more like a chocolate bunny on crack, seeing as it would take a hell of a lot of the stuff to make it move… but, anyway, wow am I rambling, so I'll just end that there…

**Val**- thanks for your review! Your compliments were immensely flattering; I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint !

**Mrs. Rogue LeBeau**- 'Cute… in a way'- ah, that describes them pretty aptly, actually sounds like something, say, Kitty might say about them… Nah, I wouldn't kill either of them off… this soon… mwahaha- sorry, just tormenting you there… Had to go with the bedsheets, there not being an outstanding amount of rope, but am glad you found it amusing… I aim to please - thanks for reviewing

**enchantedlight-** You're very faithful in your reviews, thanks much for continuing to read!

**Neurotic Temptress**- ah, sorry my updating take's so long… I know exactly the feeling you mean… because then it means you have to wait forever before the next one… but am very glad you enjoyed the action sequence, which was very fun, particularly since all of the characters involved there tend towards the physical side rather than the 'sit down and talk this out'… and believe me, it's extremely gratifying to be told I managed to crack you up, since my writing goes in way random directions and what I find funny tends to get me odd looks from a good percent of the rest of the world… so, thanks for reviewing, and a rather long chapter's provided!

**arrowna**- wow? Beautiful? I'm blushing… glad you like it, hope you continue to!

**jade**- oh, yeah, Belle definitely wanted to make an impression… perhaps not a good one, per se… sorry my updating took so long, and thanks for the compliments!

**Elf16**- There is nothing worse than a badly stocked library shudder. I rely pretty solely on them for my stories, as the nearest good bookstore's way away from home, but poor you… moving around's gotta be tough, though me, I don't go anywhere…Fanfiction rocks in the sense of finding really great stories, though it can be tough since it's assumed you know everybody… even I do that. I was steered recently by a knowledgeable soul to don't know if you're familiar wit it, but it's got a really complete rundown of, well, everything… immensely helpful in trying to nail characters … Your compliments completely blew me away, I was extremely, extremely flattered- especially saying that it was a work of art… high, high praise, thanks so much… Glad John amused you, 'cause he'll be back, and Logan's back this chapter and will return, and actually, Storm and Jubilee'll eventually become tangled up in the plot- a lot of X-men'll be in and out, some, say- Bobby, will be back a lot… serenity is not my strong suit, but I hope you were able to maintain it 'cos I definitely took quite a while getting this up…. Thanks for reviewing, I hope I can live up to your praise!

**Purity Black**- I think I'm going to have to take a leaf out of your book and stick this at the end, b/c this is waaay too long an author's note… anyway, I've got several reviews to address, so bear with me… I really appreciate that, first off!... yeah, Gambit and Bobby working together I found to be an amusing picture, though that lasted really briefly- though they'll be crossing paths again… and I've got a whole bunch more comic-verse characters popping up in this chappie, as I'm sure you'll note… puffy coats are evil… and I love that bomber jacket. It had to go in… stealing Logan's bike will undoubtedly come back to bite them in the heinies, but it was so much fun…I was very impressed you managed to review despite your eye injury-ouch!... there is nothing better than a motorcycle, except possibly a motorcycle that comes with a good looking guy completely willing to let you drive at risk of life and limb- though if I so much as laid a finger near one, my parents'd freak- it's difficult enough watching them panic when I drive my uncle's jet-ski… glad you really liked that scene, because it was SO much fun imagining it… I loved writing Bobby and Pyro together-their powers are just screaming to be pitted against or with each other, and I really appreciated your comments on that scene, so much… Bobby'll be back again shortly, though not to play off Pyro… for awhile, anyway, but I've got a few other characters I intend to throw him in with… Remy's powers are definitely out of whack, I really wanted to make use of that, and I was really happy with that scene so I was pleased you found it to be good… Yes! I'd been reading 'Men at Arms' right before writing that, you realize you're the first person I've spoken to who not only knew who Terry Pratchett was but recognized his influence! He's fantastic, I enjoy reading him a great deal… Belladonna is such an interesting villainess- and that term must be used loosely, 'cause she's got her reasons- and I appreciated your comments on their chemistry, 'cause that's exactly what I was shooting for… and action needs humor, otherwise it's just dry- which is why, say, Indiana Jones and the old Star Wars are so great- new ones less so- 'cause they work the humor in, so I try for a pale reflection of that, at least… so here's my next chapter, anyways, although late, sorry it'll probably be waits from now on, but I'm happy you like it enough to wait for more and appreciate your pledge to review, so I can't wait for your opinion on this!

**UncannyAsianGirl**- hah, beat you with an update before you managed to slip a review in! Though I admittedly missed your comments, I'd actually be mildly- possibly more than mildly- alarmed if reviewing my little fic was your first priority… oh, and my kid brother enjoyed your motorcycle music vid a great deal when I showed it to him and sends his compliments! Hope you have a chance to review my latest, if you've got the time, 'cause believe me, business is one thing I've got no trouble relating to… Thanks for thinking of my story, anyhow!


	9. Rumblings

Disclaimer: I trust there's nobody out there who actually thinks they're mine, or who thinks I actually think they're mine, 'cause that just doesn't bode well for anyone's mental stability….

A/N: Yup, hi, I'm back! Haven't slipped off the face of the earth, haven't died, just have been insanely busy on all my past weekends and have been writing this chapter piece-meal rather than straight, which is super annoying and super difficult, particularly since in my head, the plot is skipping along and my typing fingers need to catch up…plus my parents keep kicking me off the computer…. but I promise, I'll be better, especially with school coming to a close(!). Expect another chapter soon, especially as I fear this one will disappoint… it's very talky. But I needed it, for foreshadowing and to build up to some stuff I've got coming, and, I suppose, for character development if that wasn't a complete bust. But it went in…. odd directions. It was kinda annoying, 'cause I'd just written a transition chapter… and then I realized I needed another one.  Oh, and plus, I needed to play around with some new characters- yeah, I know I've been throwing a lot of people at you, but presumably most folk know 'em all… if you don't (that means you, Tim- for anybody else reading this, that's my cousin), ask. But really, don't trouble yourself too much figuring out who's where and why they're important (well, unless you wanted to, for some reason)- 'cause it'll become plain very quickly which characters'll be important. Some (Bobby, Logan) are probably already quite obvious. Besides Rogue and Remy, there should be 7 X-Men of importance throughout the story, though three you haven't really run into yet- all but one have been hinted at, at least. I'm not terribly subtle. I'm having fun reorganizing the Marvel Universe for my own twisted purposes, though, so there'll probably be lots of cameos.

Oh, and there are a couple of characters in here who, not being super familiar with but who I wanted to use, I spent a lot of time trying to get down- but I still feel uncertain on some- if you think I'm off, tell me how and in what way so I can fix it before other readers get to it and also notice the mistake, please!... I'm kinda uncertain about elements in this chapter…

But anyway, read on, and my review response is stuck at the end of the chapter, anyways- thanks to all my reviewers, and hey, if you happen to be reading this and not reviewing (which I have done in my pre- own-Internet days, so it'd serve me right, a little review just saying 'keep writing' or something to that effect really means a lot more than you'd think…. sticks out wobbling lower lip and waits for guilt to overcome anyone reading in silence… Anyway, here you go!

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Studiously, he examined his hands. He flexed each finger in turn as he eyed them intently, slowly picking up speed until they became nothing more than a tanned blur. Stopping, he held his palms flat out and stretched them out as a cat would flex his paws. Pulling them back in a smooth motion, he winced at the pain. A scowl flashed across his shadowed features.

Carefully, he turned on the water in the library's bathroom, letting the cold water run over his heat-seared palms. Across the middle of each ran a thick bar of crimson red from where he'd grabbed his bo staff out of the fire. As the freezing fluid coursed over his warm hands, Remy rubbed the pads of his fingertips. The whorls and swirls were etched with soot which stood out only slightly from his tanned hands in the unlit room. The power seemed to still be out and the flurry of perpetual snowfall and gray clouds kept the dawn's pink rays completely at bay. He continued to twiddle his lean fingers under the water, pausing to scrape some dirt out from the edges of his nails, cut to the quick. Pushing some soap into his hands, he hardly blinked his dark eyes as it stung the small cuts across his hands. A miniscule red scrape earned through carelessness in tossing a card burned fiercely on the side of his middle finger. It seemed as if he could feel his pulse throbbing through the cut. At the moment, it was annoying him more than all his bruises and considerably larger scrapes- at least, he was allowing it to distract him and it seemed to be working thus far. Turning the smooth metal faucet off, he yanked a paper towel out. Gently, he patted down his calloused hands. The raised, rough marks of experience marred his fingertips and the very crest of his palm. Remy could not call to mind a time when they had been soft. He'd been a thief for a long time.

Not nearly long enough, of course. He intended to be around to perfect his craft for a good long time.

Shaking his head, he blew the last droplets of water clinging to his hands off and turned to his reflection. Running a palm across the faint stubble on his jaw, he paused as he reached his chin and tugged it to the left experimentally.

His features had always seemed a tad too long to himself, his nose an edge too sharp at the top and too broad at the base. Blinking, he scraped his rough palms against his face, rubbing a little color into it and the sleepy edge out. No need to look as dead as Rogue. He grinned at his reflection, lean edges mixed with a boyish curve here and there. It turned to a smirk as he wiped a touch of blood off the side of his slightly split lip. "Remy, y' are one han'some devil," he told himself nonchalantly with a tilt to his head. The red of his eyes flashed in the dark. It was undeniable. He was far from perfect, but his features came close.

Rogue, he suspected, was attracted to him. It was rare a woman wasn't. It'd make everything easier if she'd just go weak in the knees and stammer like most did. He suspected it would be a problem that, like Belle, she didn't. And he liked that. He wasn't crazy about having her around for the time being, but her presence was proving useful… even if she did bring more trouble than she was worth. He shook his head. He didn't know how to handle a young girl who was hurting in more ways than one, particularly when he had ends of his own to concern himself with.

He'd been helping her, really. It bothered him that he'd thus far managed to be the good guy. Things didn't end well when he tried to play hero. Yet for all that he'd been doing for her…she didn't trust him. He felt pretty sure most of her crucial cards lay on the table now, but she jealously guarded every little thing, keeping her small secrets close to her chest. Her name. Her thoughts. Her feelings. All the details women usually eagerly poured into his half-listening ears were withheld. She was so inexperienced, naïve and out of her depth, and yet …naturally suspicious. Smart girl. _She didn't trust him_. By now, she should.

His smile turned down slightly, he started the water running again without really thinking about it. Humming a slow tune absent-mindedly, he cupped cool water in his hands and allowed it to run over the rivulets of his warm palms before splashing it over his stubbly cheeks. He repeated the motion, thinking silently and not noticing the dark drops of water landing on the lapels of his trench coat.

He might have been going about this the wrong way. Because of her relative youth, hostility, and untouchable skin, he hadn't been treating her in any way he'd ever acted towards a girl. Actually, that was untrue, he reflected. Remy, considering his behavior around Rogue, found it closest to the way he'd treated his girl cousins- who hadn't been his blood cousins, really, but nevertheless were treated as such. It was the unconscious teasing mingled with his familiar mixture of empathy and callousness and the continual reminder they were off-limits that struck a chord with the present situation. Such a course couldn't be the right one to take with Rogue. Not if he wanted her trust and cooperation by the time they reached Quebec. He'd need her then.

He drummed his fingers against the porcelain sink. The answer was obvious. He'd have to be… "charmin'," he muttered, with a pleased glance at the book Rogue had been reading the night before and which he'd skimmed after settling her sleeping form in a few chairs. It was easy enough to tell from that what kind of chivalry would send her into fits of blushes and swoons….

It was probably the juxtaposition of Rogue and swooning that sent him back to some measure of reality. He needed her trust, not her falling over her feet trying to impress him, which she would _undoubtedly_ do if he turned the full force of his charm on her. If he said jump, it would do no more good for her to say 'how high?' than it would for her to put her hands on her hips and demand brazenly 'why?' With their lives on the line, she'd have to simply jump when he said. Which brought him back around the circle to trust. Which meant flattery would no more avail him than insults.

His eyebrows furrowed in consideration. He was not a trustworthy person. Even women who confessed the stories of their life to his handsome face probably saw as much.

To have her trust him, he'd have to be… he'd have to be…. Remy grimaced… _nicer_. Last night was probably a good start… well, the part after he dragged her to a bar and got drunk. At least he hadn't gotten _her_ drunk. Thinking of drinking, he switched the water back on, cupping some to his lips to drink as the soothing sound filled the silence of the small room again. Yet he'd have to not just ooze charm, but be… _seem_ to be….he glanced at the ridiculous book Rogue'd been reading…. thoughtful. Warm, even. Kind. Wincing, he mentally added… _sincere_.

He was not going to be good at this.

He rubbed his forehead, struck by an increasing heat in the palms of his hands as he gripped the corners of the porcelain sink, feeling a bit sick. The unfamiliar feeling of… _guilt_… nagged at him again. He didn't notice the glow rising to shed light on his face. The problem with getting her to trust him was… it'd make it hurt worse for her later. Those who trusted him found it came back to bite them in the ass. He was such a….

…Gambit suddenly noticed that a pinkish glow from below was dousing his reflected features with warm light. Dark eyes widening at the sight of brightly twinkling porcelain sink, he dove away…

"Sonuvabitch!"

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Spoons clashed against each other in the carton, dueling for the last scoop of Panda Paws. Darting hands scrambled against each other, until one spoon jerkily pushed aside the others of its own accord. Having scooped up the last bit, the metal spoon arced back towards its owner's hands. The green-haired girl, looking at her companions with triumph, relished in the small bit of chocolate and peanut butter ice cream she'd grabbed.

"That was cheating," another girl commented sullenly, dragging her spoon hopefully against the sides of the cartons in an attempt to get the remainder.

A slim Asian girl with jet black hair and pert features turned away from the empty box, heading for the somewhat small walk-in freezer in the other room with a determined expression.

"Where you going?" the obtainer of the last bit of ice-cream called thickly but with some concern, mouth not only full but cold. She swallowed. "We're supposed to stay together- in one place and in one piece!" The slightest touch of panic was audible in her tone.

"Sheesh, just getting the rainbow sherbet!" the other shouted back, trying not to roll her eyes. "Don't have a cow, Lorna."

"You shouldn't go al-" the green-haired girl began to argue.

The other swiveled, finger wagging in a preemptive protest. "Nuh-uh! I'll die several deaths before walking around in a conga line again."

"A five-person buddy system is not a conga line," Lorna muttered. "What, you'll

risk death for, of all things, sherbet?"

The smaller girl shrugged as she exited. "If the world's all going to blazes, hey, man, I'd rather have spiffy pastel coldness in my mouth than not."

Lorna Dane scowled, absent-mindedly tossing her spoon from hand to hand. "I've asked her not to use phrases like man and dude every other second," she remarked with a tad of annoyance.

Another blonde with short hair and far too much blush, still licking the remnants she'd been scraping from her spoon, looked up in bemusement. "Sure, they're sexist, right, Kermie? We've got to start making Jubes saying dudette!"

"Don't let her hear you call her that," Lorna said, half-listening. Her head suddenly snapped up as the first sentence sunk in. "Don't call _me_ anything, either."

A vivacious, strikingly pretty and skinny girl with flaxen hair and a yellow T-shirt with an unreadable scrawl apparently intended to be the name of a band frowned, pulling her guilty gaze away from the empty ice cream carton. "Sherbet…That'll probably be a little bit better for my diet, right?" She plainly hadn't been listening to a word they were saying, the reason plain as she pulled out small iPod headphones.

The girl wearing a little too much make-up glanced over. "What? Two slices of chocolate cake, your share of the ice cream, and- whoops, almost forgot, those leftover slices of pizza… huh, think there's still a little sauce on your face…"

"Tabby," the final girl in the room scolded quietly, noticing the cheeks of the girl addressed growing dangerously pink. She ran a tanned hand through her dark hair, casting a nervous glance at the windows, sealed with metal defenses, and then at the clock. "Shouldn't Miss Tessa be back by now?"

Tabby appeared to consider this, tilting her head and toying with the flipped-up ends of her hair. She blinked her blue eyes innocently. "Well, you think we'd at least have heard a scream. Or a loud crunching noise."

The brunette who had asked the question wrinkled her nose. "I don't think Sage would scream."

"I doubt she _can_ scream," Lorna muttered, drumming her fingernails, painted green, against the counter. "She's so…"  
"Frigid? Glacial? Calculating? Haughty?" Tabby offered casually, still turning the spoon about in her mouth. Looking up, she noticed their expressions of surprise. "Hey, I know big words," she said defensively, pulling the spoon out and let it clang on the table.

"She's more austere," the dark-haired one concluded in her soft voice, twiddling the spoon in her fingers.

Tabby looked at her friend calmly, her carefully plucked eyebrows raising slightly. She shrugged and grinned. "Got me there, 'Mara. I hope it means something nasty."

"It means stern," Amara answered readily.

The head of the girl who had exited popped around the corner. "Guys, the hinges are frozen solid," she commented mildly, cinching the belt on her yellow raincoat as she walked in. "The stupid spit-shined steel door won't budge a smidge."

"Blow it up," Tabby suggested.

The girl held up her hands. "Hey, I want more ice cream as much as anyone, but hello? We've got a bunch of enormous tin-cans standing on the front lawn who'll blow us all to kingdom come the moment any of us do anything. Come to think, we're kinda lucky that Lorna's little spoon trick didn't end up with us in a kazillion little pieces." She thought about this, adjusting the pink sunglasses she wore pushed up onto her forehead. "That might top the list of lamest ways to die." Her lips twitched upwards. "It'd definitely give new meaning to screaming for ice cream…"

"Ugh, Jubilee, that's scary," the blonde worrying about her diet reproached, turning accusingly to the girl with the extremely noticeable thick and wavy green hair. She gestured with her hands. "We were this close to dying. Lorna! You could've killed us just because you had to _hog_ the last bit!"

"Oh, c'mon, don't exaggerate, Alison. It was just a _little_ bit of magnetism!" Lorna protested. "I doubt those Sentinel things even noticed," she added, trying to reassure herself more than the other girls.

"So… no ice cream?" Amara concluded a little sadly, her dark eyes looking downcast.

"Enh. We'll live," Tabby decided, looking about for her headphones and CD player.

"Actually, that's somewhat uncertain," Lorna reminded her. She sighed, turning to refill her glass of milk. "It was a very good distraction, though."

Jubilee looked at them with disappointment, clapping her hand to her face. "Man oh man, do you all give up easily! Tabby, what'd you do with the thing-a-ma-jiggers we took off the thief? He had all kinds of stuff for breaking down over-priced doors."

Her gloss-lined lips turned up at the edges at the thought. "Hmm. Gave 'em to Dazzle there, now didn't I?"

"Dazzler," Allison corrected, looking annoyed. "Dazz_le_ is what I do, Dazz_ler_ is who I am. And you didn't give me a thing, _Tabitha_."

Tabby ignored the girl's purposeful attempt to bait her and shrugged. "Maybe I gave them to Sally, then. She's got the same Barbie doll look."

Lorna choked on her milk, trying desperately to swallow it and not let her laughter dispose of it otherwise.

"You're one to talk," Alison countered, offended. "You're more Barbie than me."

Tabby looked between the laughing Lorna and the other girl. Her blue eyes narrowed as her chair slid back slightly. "Meaning what, pop star?"

"Sure, I've got the hair-and _my_ blonde happens to be natural- and eyes, but at least I don't have the disposition."

"Ex-cuse me?"

Dazzler twiddled with the tiny diamond nose stud which her mother would murder her over next break, assuming she lived that long. "Let me spell it out for you: S-L-"

Tabby began to lunge at her before Jubilee slid between the two of them. Her choppy black hair, gathered into a defiant high ponytail that wasn't really holding the frayed strands, fell into her face. Her look of disgust increased manifold. "Chill, won't you! Jeez, you're, what, gonna murder each other over who looks more like a Mattel doll?"

"We've got bigger problems," Lorna said loftily.

Tabby shot a glare at her. "Don't go all high and mighty on us, Dane," using the other girl's last name in her easy-going, yet mocking and cutting. "Take a Barbie some junior yuppie left in the wash with a green shirt, and I think you'd stack up real nice."

Lorna's eyes blazed dangerously.

Amara winced. "That wasn't called for," she said quietly to Tabitha Smith, whose cheeks were flushed even pinker than usual in her annoyance. "You _know_ she's sensitive about the hair."

"I did _not_ just hear you compare me to the unrealistic plastic stereotype from which springs the stupid male fantasies that contribute to ruining the mind of all teen-"

Jubilee blew the straggly ponytail of her shortened hair out of her eyes and began looking around the room for a spot Tabby would have been likely to stick the thief's supplies in while she loudly interrupted. "I hafta tell ya, this conversation could probably qualify you all as Looney Tunes." She considered, then added, "I call the Tasmanian Devil!"

"Nobody asked you to open your big mouth, Jubes," Tabby interjected quickly, turning back to Lorna with something of a sneer. "Go on, I wanna hear all about how Barbie and Lara Croft and me are destroying civ-"

"That's _motor_-mouth, not big mouth," Jubilee corrected, ducking under the table to see if the belt and bag could have been set there. "My mouth is quite cutely sized, thank you. I'm very happy with it. Face it, I hit the mother lode of mouth widths."

Tabby grinned, her own mouth parting for a remark that would certainly cause trouble, but Amara managed to stomp quickly on her foot. Tabby, scowling, turned her attention on the quiet girl. "Oww… there's no need to _hurt_ me. Just 'cause it's not easy for Lorna to be green-"

"Only the hair!" the girl in question hissed.

"-and as to the Barbie thing-"

Jubilee, with a musing expression, pulled herself out from under the table and quickly slung her light frame onto the countertop. Perched there, she interjected, "You know, come to think, a Barbie doll's got to be a better role model than Miss Frost. More realistic expectations and all. Leaving aside the dose of evil, of course."

"Miss Frost's not that b-"

"Meant the Barbie. Though," Jubilee considered, looking thoughtful, "

A rumbling noise from outside distracted them from the ensuing debate. As a group, they all jumped, lifting a good few inches off their chairs. They froze, as motionless as the clock on the last day of school, not daring to move a muscle until it became plain no further sound was to follow. Whether this was good or bad, they could not tell.

Amara was the first to draw breath again. "Winnie the Pooh," she muttered.

Tabby blinked, looking over. "Say what?"

The darker girl flushed. "Y'know, when the loud scary sounds always turn out to be the rumbling in his tumbly- ah, stomach," she corrected, ducking her head and letting her dark hair fall like a sheet across it. "Everything turns out to be okay…"

"Machines don't eat human," Jubilee offered brightly, out of the blue. She paused at the looks they gave her. "What? Hey, sue me for being an optimist and pointing out small mercies. And don't anybody go wishing too hard to be chased by Pooh Bear instead of walking death machines, seeing as we don't want some kinda Staypuft Marshmallow Man fiasco." Again, she got blank stares. "I give, I give," she grumbled. "Somebody on high's got something major against me to stick me in a house where I get handed the telephone for saying 'who ya gonna call?'"

Under her breath, Ali began to sing "House of Pooh Corner." Her breaking into song being a relatively common occurrence, the tension broke and Tabby reached over to cuff her lightly on the back of the head in a way that plainly indicated 'knock-it-off'. Alison, glaring, increased the volume.

Jubilee fumbled for a piece of gum from a pack left lying on the counter, sighing. "Now, back to the matter of the ice cream-"

"I thought we were on Barbies," Lorna said, lost in thought and slightly shaken.

Alison, abruptly shifting keys and songs, got as far as, "I'm a B-" before Tabby firmly clamped a hand over her mouth. Lorna, not so gently, pulled the two apart as the muffled girl reached to dig her sculpted fingernails into Tabby's hands.

Jubilee held up her hands. "Jeez, and people tell me I'm dippy," she muttered before demanding loudly, "Look, did ya give the guy's stuff to Sally or not, Tabs?"

It took the girl a considerable moment to remember the origin of their topic. Then she jerked her thumb at Alison. "I _swear_ I gave it to Glitzy here."

"When?" Dazzler demanded, exasperated and disbelieving.

Tabby considered. "Yesterday. When Jubes was roller-blading down the stairs."

Alison scowled. "I suppose you can see, then, how I might have been distrac-"

There was the faintest sound of what might have been a cough or a laugh.

The girls turned, almost as one, towards the entrance to the other end of the kitchen.

"Hello?" Amara called, stepping forward slightly.

"That sounded like a guy," Lorna hissed.

Tabby perked up. "I've almost forgotten what a guy sounds like," she said cheerfully.

"Better not be another of Alison's stalkers," Jubilee commented with a groan.Alison blinked innocently. "Hope he's cuter than the last one…"

"Hope it's Gambit," Tabby muttered with relish

Lorna, standing in front of the others and also peering at the doorway, spread her arms out as a precaution to hold her classmates back. Jubilee ducked straight under, tiptoeing forward. Her foot bumped against a chair, which skidded slightly with a moaning sound. Soft footsteps began to quickly patter away

"Sshhhh," Amara said, too late, holding her finger to her lips as she tried to listen to the footsteps. She turned, shaking her head. "None of us walk that loud. Not even Jean when she's throwing a fit or-"

The faint sound of metal hinges creaking could be heard.

"Run!" Jubilee urged at last, lunging forward but turning to snag Lorna's collar as she headed in the wrong direction. "Towards the sound, _towards_ it!"

Charging as one little sprinting herd, they headed around the corner.

Bobby Drake eased the door shut behind him, panicked. He should not have left the freezer. For that matter, he now realized, he shouldn't have frozen the door, but since he'd been hiding among the sherbets and fat-free yogurts, he'd become understandably panicked. Then his curiosity had simply gotten the better of him. Now he was too frightened to attempt freezing the door again, in case one of those Sentinels came bursting through the wall after him. If he'd know there'd be several surrounding this place in a matter of hours- which, he supposed, in some corner of his mind he had, but he'd figured safety in numbers was his best bet- he wouldn't have gone to all that trouble of freezing security cameras and sneaking inside. Now what was he going to do? he wondered pathetically, listening to them come closer. If they'd hurt Gambit, who'd shown himself against Sabretooth to be a fighter extraordinaire, what on God's green earth would they do to him? He considered praying, but deciding there wasn't time, looked around instead. His ice blue eyes lit up. Bingo!

The girls reached the larger area of the kitchen. Finding it empty, their gaze and steps turned toward the steel door of the freezer, built into the wall. Lorna, hesitantly, reached for it. Her hands closed on the latch, tugging it slightly. It responded to her pull, edging the slightest bit open. The green-haired girl turned to Jubilee. "I think you just weren't pulling hard enough," she offered.

The other girl narrowed her eyes. "No way. I'm telling ya, it was frosted over before."

"Frosted over," Lorna repeated noncommittally.

"At the edges," Jubilee insisted, ignoring the skeptical looks. "Honest!"

Amara nodded, looking thoughtful, while Tabby folded her arms impatiently. "Open it already, greenie," she said, rolling her eyes.

Gritting her teeth but maintaining her cool, Lorna swung the door open.

Horrified, a boy about their age looked at them with widening eyes from his position clinging to a hook on the door with his feet pulled off of the ground. Seeing their stunned expressions, he gaped, but managed to slowly drop down. He stumbled, his light brown hair falling in scattered directions across his youthful features. "I, uh…," he tried valiantly, blinking rapidly. "I, uh…well... I….probably should have remembered the door didn't swing in," he muttered to himself. His hands shook slightly.

"Who're you!" Amara wondered, her own dark eyes going wide.

"I'm Iceman," he offered quickly, mouth quirking involuntarily into some approximation of the smile it always took on when a pretty girl spoke to him.

"Man?" Tabby drawled questioningly, looking him up and down skeptically.

He flushed crimson, his hands shaking slightly more. He didn't notice a slight edge of frost appearing on his palms. "Um…yes. Iceman."

"Not a stalker?" Alison asked, eyeing him.

"Uhhhh…no. Not… technically."

The girls exchanged glances at that, except Lorna, who was studying him intently, as if she recognized him. "Do I know you?" she asked him suspiciously.

He tried, failingly, not to look her up and down. "Boy, do I wish-" He cut off, managing a frightened little laugh at the expressions on their faces- particularly the girl in question.

Her green eyes suddenly widened. "You're the guy whose been trying to see into my room!" she hissed. "The one with the binoculars!"

"No!" Bobby protested, backing up into the freezer. "No, I most certainly have not!" He stopped, seeing her deadly expression. "I was just admiring the décor!"

Lorna put one hand on her hip, face severe. "I say we throw him to the Sentinels."

Bobby began to sputter and babble apologies, even as Jubilee's eyes twinkled. "Nah, we can do worse. I say we throw him to Tabby."

There was a slight pause, before Bobby managed in a very small voice, "What's a Tabby?"

"A garishly painted man-eating mutant with explosive capabilites confined to school grounds," Alison said in an utterly serious tone, not betraying herself with the slightest snicker.

"That's it!" Tabby snapped, her perpetual naughty grin vanished entirely. She held out her hand, and a small glowing ball of whitish light appeared. The rim around it flickered as the ball flashed shades more of yellow or gold.

"Gah!" Bobby shouted, assuming it was going to be thrown at him. Closing his eyes tightly in a pained expression and holding his hands out in front of his face, he shot ice at them. Because of his closed eyes, his aim was considerably off: instead, he managed to slick the ground beneath their feet, sending all the girls into trips, slides, and spins that inevitably led them to crash painfully on the floor.

Pride wounded, Dazzler, wincing at the pain in her posterior, rose to her feet unsteadily, skidding on the ice. "Just keep yelling," she muttered as Bobby began to vigorously swear, taking in the sound waves as he did. Her hands flickered with pulses of blinding light.

"Have you all forgotten the giant monster robots outside?" Jubilee shouted, waving her arms from her place on her arm. "They're ugly, they're enormous, they're purple or maybe more of a red, _and they track mutant powers_, in case somebody needed to remind ya!"

"Twerp's going to pay," Alison said flatly, raising her palms and shooting beams of prism-like lights towards Bobby. The boy ducked, spreading his hand and allowing a sheet of ice to form from it, creating an effective shield. The attack of light rebounded at Jubilee, who flattened herself against the icy floor and snapped her pink sunglasses down.

The force of the light rays sent her skidding back a bit, but the moment she'd raised her head, she noticed Tabby, behind her. "Ah, cripes!" Jubes shouted, ducking again as the spunky party girl flung small glowing balls from the tips of each finger on her right hand. They zoomed in the direction of both Iceman and Dazzler, making it impossible to tell which one they were intended to hit.

"Gaaaaaah!" Bobby repeated with more fervor, as one of Tabby's little bombs imploded against his small ice shield, shattering it even as he leaped away from it, while another carried on to hit a carton of ice cream, splattering it forward so that a little of the chocolate hit the boy's hair.

Dazzler repulsed the other three with her own light blasts, even as Tabby blew on her fingertips and said cheerfully, "Badda-bing, badda-boom."

One bounced towards Lorna, who quickly deflected it with a hand gesture sending a nearby spatula towards it. On impact, the small ball exploded, leaving a black-scorched spatula that fell to the ground. Amara tossed a plate in front of another, sending pieces of china over the room. The last bounced against the walls, rebounding back and forth in zig-zag directions with perpetually increasing speed. The eyes of most occupants in the room followed it.

Jubilee, struggling to her feet on the ice, was grumbling that she now knew how Sally, the friction-resistant Skids and their classmate, felt, and was paying no attention to the whole thing. She looked up, finally on her feet, to see through her rosy glasses Tabby's ball rebound off the fridge door as Bobby swiveled it around to protect himself. It was heading straight towards her midsection. Immediately, she dropped, unable to get enough of a footing on the ice to dive away. She heard it explode somewhere over her head, and breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly she was struck by a horrible and all too familiar feeling. Ignoring the Iceman shooting blasts of ice at Tabby, she reached up to find that the upper half of her attempt at a high ponytail had been sheared off and that the ends were yet again, scorched. She grabbed at them with her bare hand, making sure they weren't aflame and likewise quenching the hair beginning to burn with an air-depriving squeeze. Furiously, she tugged the hair tie out, casting it on the ground. She grabbed at her short hair. This was the _fifth time_ since she'd come here, with her straight dark hair past her shoulder! "The third time this month!" she said angrily and aloud, drawing attention. Bobby, unwisely, chose this moment to attempt an ice blast at Dazzler, who was standing close to Jubilee. It came far too close to the latter, unfortunately for him. "You blockheaded, boorish, sorry excuse for even an _orange_ Freeze-Pop!" she said menacingly, pushing up the sleeves of the raincoat. "You're a god-damn menace and _probably_ a pervert, and should we end up smears on the walls, it's entirely your fault but be happy that I won't get to take my revenge in the afterlife, 'cause your abject idiocy would hurt the rep of heaven or hell!"

"Hey!" he protested indignantly, fumbling for an insult. "At least- at least I'm not wearing a rain coat indoors, and it's more your friends' fault than _mine_, and, uh-" He cut off at the scary look on her face. For some reason, he was oddly reminded of Rogue… except with hair that happened to be smoking and a far wickeder glint in the eyes. He gulped.

"Don't hassle me about the coat," Jubilee ordered, and looking around, noticed Lorna using her magnetic powers to send plates spinning at a rapid speed, apparently planning to fling them at Bobby's head. She adjusted her sunglasses. "I am so sick of being the voice of reason! To blazes with all of it! Heck, popsicle-boy," she said, holding her hands out as they began to sparkle with light, "to blazes with you too!"

Tabby grinned. "Always said you were my kind of girl, Jubes!" she yelled back, letting a crackling ball glow in her hand.

Alison clapped her hands together, letting multicolored streaks dance over her hand.

Bobby whimpered slightly as fireworks exploded from the girl's hands, dodging the plates that came far too close to his neck, and began seriously considering prayer. Surely, something from the heavens would come and stop this. As light of different varieties, sparkling fireworks, hazy blasts, and exploding balls plummeted towards him from girls who in other situations he'd have tried to get the numbers of, he held out his hands. Amazingly, a wall of ice spread quickly- though not quite quick enough. He turned his head to avoid the weakened streams of light that were refracted through, then looked up as he heard a slightly ominous sound that reminded him of popcorn kernels exploding in the microwave. He looked down and jumped. Dancing about, he dodged the tiny bouncing ball of light that would give new meaning to the term hot-foot. He ignored the cries from the girls on the other end, as Dazzler's light had apparently been reflected right into their unprotected eyes. Rather, he heaved a sigh of relief and peeked out from behind his safe little ice wall to where the students were clutching at their eyes and stumbling. Edging out at a rapidly increasing pace, he made a beeline towards the nearest exit.

"Gotcha," a voice said triumphantly, as a hand yanked on the back of his color. Bobby felt himself jerking back, straight over a leg extended to trip him, and found himself flat on his back looking up into a pair of dark eyes shaded by pink glasses. He groaned. If he had to die, he'd rather the green-haired one killed him. Trying to ice the floor, he jerked upright, only to take a brilliant blue flower of a firework in the chest and return to the floor.

Bobby, warily, looked up at her sparkling hands. "Ohpleasedon'thurtme," he babbled quickly, putting his hands together in the prayer motion. "Reallytheyellow'smostbecomingifyou'djust-"

"Oh, yeah, fear my mighty death-ray," the voice intoned.

"You've got a death ray! Ohgodohgod-"

"Dude, please don't start crying. This'll be difficult, but try to be a little less lame? Not like I hurt people on a regular basis. Though if somebody calls me a boy again," she yanked at her hair in annoyance and scowled deeply, "I will thrash you within a centimeter of your measly little life, comprende?"

He sat up, wincing at the sight of the blonde who threw the little balls that went boom hurling them blindly about in the direction she hoped he was in. "Uh… can you say the same thing about your friends? The thee-shall-not-cause-me-undue-pain bit? 'Cause I saw what you guys did to Gambit… that'd be the trench coat guy who tried to break in-"

"Remy? That slimy, pea-brained, scummy though nummy piece of work? If anyone needs their ass kicked, it's him," Jubilee said empathetically. "He's the textbook definition of a bastard… actually, I guess it's possible he _does_ fit the definition-"

Bobby frowned, brown hair flopping about his features, his mouth dropping slightly. "Wait, you, uh, know him… how!"

A horrendously close and tremendously quick crunching noise consumed all else as thick metal boots shattered straight down, plummeting from several floors higher up to crunch right through the ceiling. A dark orange flame burning at their base, they slowed and began to lower at a rate that made the deep treads in the metal boots perfectly visible to the two still having some semblance of sight. Slowly, it landed, bringing the rest of the lacquered, darkly colored machine made in the semblance of a giant metal man. It extended its hand, a finger in itself the size of Bobby's head pointing at them. A circular metal device spun away in segments, leaving a small hollow in the fingertip with a menacing glow within. The other fingertips followed suit as they were mechanically raised in a motion that was, terrifyingly, more smooth than jerky. It aimed directly at them, stepping forward with clanking steps that sunk into the kitchen floor, even though its head remained in the hole in the ceiling. As it stepped forward, its neck ripped a tearing hole through the ceiling as easily as one would tear a seam.

Jubilee stumbled back, then jetted towards Lorna, who was stumbling about and cursing loudly as she attempted to avoid what was to her the hazy shadow of the metal figure. "Ohmanohmanohmanohman," she chanted, drawing breath only to bellow in the green-haired girl's direction, "Pol-arisssss!"

Bobby looked desperately at the cracking plaster overhead as the Sentinel stepped closer, ignoring everything in its way. He had asked for something from the sky to stop the fight… "That wasn't what I meant!" he bellowed to the world at large.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

The increasingly familiar noise of an explosion jolted Rogue straight upright from her carefully placed position curled up in the library's most comfortable chair- which was to say, not very comfortable at all. She threw off the trench coat tucked around her and rubbing clarity into her eyes, staggered upright, reaching for the nearest heavy book. "What in tarnation-" she snapped out loudly, voice filled with grumpiness and fatigue as she stopped to listen to the stream of French words that were probably blasphemous, as they stopped awfully abruptly when Remy heard the sound of her voice .

"'S'okay! 'M not seriously maimed or injured or dead! Which I hope yo'd consider a good t'ing! Jus' somet'ing o' a lil' plumbing mishap, chere, not'ing I can't manage! Uh… maybe go back t' bed or somet'ing!"

Rogue listened, fighting off a yawn. Yup, definitely the sound of streaming water. Rubbing her sore eyes, which she knew must be tremendously red, she set her jaw, even though Gambit had to currently hold the position of last person on earth she wanted to deal with right now. She bent to roll up her pant legs and stalked in the direction of his reassurances, which were punctuated by words she didn't know the meaning of but could make a damn good guess at.

Her hand settled firmly on the metal knob, and she steadied her recently awoken frame against it before turning. Swinging open the door and letting it bang against the wall, she looked at Remy, whose hands were firmly closed over a broken, curved pipe spluttering streams of water out in gushes that shot through the gaps in his grip. It was all that remained of what had probably once been the sink, and white ceramic shards were everywhere except in Gambit, though it was hard to tell as he was quickly becoming soaked. He looked somehow different minus his trench coat. He nodded at her, managing to look unabashed. "Dive on in, water's fine and dere ain't no gators, which is more den a body can say 'bout home."

"There some reason yah're managing to flood a building in the middle of a blizzard?" she asked, unsmiling.

"Hey, in yo' presence, chere, Gambit can definitely use more den one cold shower," he spouted back automatically, then realized instinctively he'd said the wrong thing, particularly when her face closed off rather than offering a sharp retort. She glared at him. Dieu, he knew she'd be mad. "'Course, might have been more intelligent to have simply run out into the snow, but den I never implied dat it's m' _brain_ that's large-" Remy cut off, having the sudden impulse to slap himself silly at her cold expression that told him very plainly he was an idiot. Wincing, he looked at her with his most pitiful expression. "'Kay, so dis Cajun made de sink go boom. Didn't do it on purpose, see? But dat don't make it no less a disaster." He sighed pathetically. "Give a man a hand here, won't ya, chere?"

She nodded curtly, her eyes narrowed somewhat darkly. "Right. And yah're suggestin' ah do what, exactly?"

He frowned, straightening slightly, though his hands remained in front of the pipe spluttering vast amounts of water into the air, not managing to do much but deflect it in every direction. "Uh… maybe y' hold de water back, an' I try t' weld it shut wit'-"

"And yah think backing up the pressure even more so it can explode all over again is a good idea?" Rogue managed, shaking her head. She sighed, her locks dangling in front of her hooded eyes, masked further with purple circles underneath. She desperately hoped this was just a bad dream.

"What'm I supposed t' do?"

Rogue looked up at his expression, somewhere between earnest and exasperated. "Intelligent folk'd either call a professional or get the Sam Hill outta here."

He squinted at her through the water spraying onto his face, the red glint of his eyes visible nevertheless. "We snowed in, chere. Can't do nothing like dat. We gotta _fix_ it."

"You _broke_ the pipe!"

He looked down at the shattered remains of the sink. "Oui, I t'ink we can agree on that."

Her features reddening in frustration, she gestured with her hands. "Yah don't just fix things like that! Unless you happen to have some magic plumbing ability yah'd like ta share!"

He looked taken aback, resisting touching a hand to his rapidly dampening scarlet shirt in innocence. "Moi? _Plumbing_!"

Rogue studied him with narrowed eyes. "Shit," she said softly, her head turned slightly at an angle. Her mouth drew slightly open, almost scornfully, as her chin turned from left to right in disbelief. "You're _rich_!"

His dark eyes widened. "Uh- well- I- used t' be-"

"_Now_ it all makes sense! Yah couldn't have always been, 'cause yah didn't seem to- but- shit! You were some fancy heir to a fortune who- no, 'cause you've been mentionin' relations- whose _family_ had nothin' better to do than rip folk off for their valuables and fritter away the rest o' yah're time on women and drink-"

"I resent dat!" he said, looking offended. "Y' way off target there an'-"

"Oh, shut up and listen up," she said, annoyed, her hands crossing. "Let go of that thing, all yah'd accomplish is gettin' yah hands cut up. Seen any other sinks in this place?"

Instinctively, he'd backed away from the pipe, and looked up at her in confusion. "Dere's, uh, another bat'room in de back, an a lil' drinkin' fountain-"

"Good. Go turn on the water in the one and rig somethin' up so the faucet keeps runnin', all right?" she said in a business-like manner, kicking off her boots and yanking off her socks. Passing him without a glance as he headed out, Rogue tugged her pants cuffs up still higher and walked into the flooding bathroom cautiously. Her bare feet slapped down on the water-covered linoleum as she walked over to the toilet. Bending, she looked back and to the left of it, where an oval metal faucet a couple inches wide attached to the wall via a thick-bodied pipe and to the toilet by a thinner, twisting one. It had a rusting nail direct in the middle of it, and an all-but unreadable label etched into it. Cringing and hoping she was right, she turned it and listened to the gurgling sounds emerging from the plumbing of the toilet. Quickly, she splashed her way out, ducking the spouting pipe as best she could but still getting hit with cold water. It brought her fully awake.

"Utilities closet, utilities closet, maybe basement," she muttered to herself as she quickly paced the sides of the library, her eyes lighting up as they spied a door marked with the words she'd been muttering tucked away behind a further door of glass. Swinging it open, she jumped, letting out a faint exclamation of surprise, when Remy suddenly leaned out of a door inside the small divison.

He noticed he'd startled her. "The ot'er bathroom?" he reminded her, jerking his thumb in the direction he was departing.

"Oh," she said, blinking off her shock and managing a scowl. She reached for the door marked Utilities, only to find it locked. She closed her eyes in annoyance, turning to Gambit. "Could y-"

"My pleasure," he said smoothly, stepping forward and drawing out of his pocket, of all things, a bobby pin. He inserted it as easily as if it were a key, twiddled it around swiftly, and easily turned the knob as the door snapped open. "It's dark," he warned, trying the light in vain. "Power's still out, an' no win-"

"Ah'm not afraid of the dark," Rogue replied coolly, stepping in.

"Yeah, I figured, chere, but dat means y' need me." He tapped two fingers to the corner of his right eye. "See, I ate m' carrots as a chile…"

"Okay," she muttered, walking further inside. It was a large, square room, the dim glow from a furnace the only light besides the dim light from the doorway that bathed the entrance wanly. Their own wobbling shadows laid before them for the first few steps.

His hand, in a steering manner, fell instinctively on the small of her back. She stopped dead in her tracks, giving him a look she knew he could see.

He backed off. "What we looking fo'?" he asked politely.

She sighed, ticking things off on her gloved fingers. "The stop valve, the central heating system, any water heaters, the- whatever the hell shuts the electricity off-"

"Dat, I can do," he pronounced triumphantly. Rogue felt sure his face displayed inane pride with himself. "I'm a t'ief, I spent half my time knockin' out de power, an' de security systems- t'ough I suppose dat won't help… don't know nothin' 'bout de heat or de water, t'ough."

"The water heater comes about up to my chin, it's round, most houses got 'em… it's, uh, a cylinder-"

"In ot'er words, it looks like dis thing right here," said Gambit's voice from a bit ahead of her. A loud reverberating sound rang through the hall as he smacked it.

"Doubtlessly."

"What d'I do wit' it?"

"See the white twisty knob?" she asked apathetically. "Yah switch it t' off."

"Oh."

There was a slight creaking noise, and then a clearing of his throat.

"The water switches should be right around there too," she said, almost mock encouragingly. "And the heat."

"Uh… would dey also be marked wit' sides saying 'off'… which I might point out was turned t' de ot'er side and I had t' crane my neck t' de see it and was written in raised letters in white- making it very difficult to see in the dark," he added darkly, with a defensive edge.

"No, but they ought ta be labeled."

"My vision ain't all dat good in de dark, after all," he muttered, a faint noise suggesting he was running his experienced hands up and down the metal. Rogue waited patiently as a series of clicks took place, until with a slow groan, the light of the furnace died down till it was nothing more than a tiny pilot flame. That, too, flickered away.

"How about buckets?" Rogue asked.

There was a pause before Remy's bass voice replied. "I'll look."

"All right. I'd go see what I can do 'bout that water fountain, 'cause we gotta drain the water from the pipe as best we can now that we've shut everythin' off, and then we'll have to let what's left pour into the buckets-"

"I can take it from here," he said, his figure a darker shadow against the room, the red of his eyes the only color. "Why dontcha go rest or read or somet'ing…"

She bristled, her shoulder unconsciously squaring up. "Hey, Ah can bail as well as anybody, and Ah've handled problems with plumbing before-"

"Look, jus' meant it's my mess, I handle it, oui?"

"Oui, whatever," she muttered, throwing up her hands. "Don't want mah help, just say so… which ah guess yah did. Suppose Ah might as well get outta yah way. Just… argh, Gambit, you are one extremely annoying individual, yah know that?"

"I been made aware o' it on multiple occasions," he said dryly, bending to turn something else off.

Rubbing her hands over her face sleepily as she stalked away, Rogue pulled them away as the soft skin of her eyelids objected to the leather of her gloves, however soft. Re-crossing her arms, she sat back down on the chair, stopping to pick up the trench coat and fold it over a different chair. Her face flamed with fury. Oh, when he wanted to handle something himself, that was good and dandy, but if she wanted to be left alone, he couldn't comply. Damn him. He had to wake up at the worst possible moment. He had to wake _her_ up with a minor disaster… which were becoming quite routine. Annoyed, she reached to the magazine-littered table next to her where she'd left the book she'd been reading the night before.

Her hand met only the glossy covers of magazines. Leaning over the chair, she peered onto the floor, her already mussed hair flopping downwards as she ended up upside-down to check under the chair for it. No luck. Straightening and getting up, she crouched down to look for it. Pushing off the carpet, Rogue rose with a suspicious look. Quickly, she turned to check the opposite table, where she'd left Destiny's diary.

It hadn't been moved a smidge, but several Latin dictionaries had been assembled near it. Rogue's dark green eyes narrowed till they were little more than slits. She wondered how long she'd been asleep.

Soft, barely there footsteps clicked from the direction she'd left. Swiftly, Rogue snagged a book from a nearby display and dropped into the chair. She opened it in front of her face, pulling her feet up with her.

A hand pulled the book down slightly, tugging it enough to see her face. Gambit held a bucket in one hand and her shoes, socks stuffed within, in the other. "Forgot t'ose," he said easily, setting them down on the floor. "So," he said conversationally, flopping into a nearby chair, which really wasn't designed to be flopped into, "I stuck a bucket under de pipe. No point in bailing, really, water damage already prob'ly done, an' hey, if de government has t' pay fo' it, less tax dollars t' be goin' towards killer robots, non?"

She stared fixedly at the book, trying to pay attention to the swimming letters. She fought off a yawn, the remainder of a late awakening after days of too-little sleep. She also felt sincerely bad for the librarian, but as she sunk back against the seat, didn't really feel like getting up and bailing just to defy Remy, anyways. Rogue didn't feel too friendly towards the government, anyhow.

He looked around, noticing the stack of dictionaries had been moved and finding his trench coat. He took the opportunity to move to the closer, more comfortable seat while snagging the coat from his new chair. "Didn't look at dat journal o' yours, so y' know. Suppose we could try t' puzzle it out later, maybe. 'M sure dat'd be de highlight of de day."

She looked up. "What happened to that book Ah was readin'?" she asked as if it didn't matter at all.

"It was on de sink."

She lowered the book, looking at his nonchalant expression blankly, then turned the page and fixed her gaze on it once more.

Rogue could feel her eyes on her before he spoke again. "Dey all died in de end, one way or anot'er. Oh, an' some ot'er poor sap got bitten, so dey all died fo' not'ing an' dere'll be a new werewolf anyhow. Tell me, what was supposed t' be attractive 'bout de guy who just grunted all de time?"

She didn't bother to respond.

"Oh, wait," Remy continued, as if he'd had a revelation. "He also made dat tender speech lastin' all o' four lines and de speech on 'why it's good t' die fo' good'. An' I suppose y' can count all de times he says her name… I don' t'ink I'd let my worse enemy wipe his ass wit' dat book." He paused. "Dis'd probably be when y' tell me dat's one o' favorite authors, oui?"

"Ah liked it," Rogue told him, surprisingly calm.

"It's written fo' people wit' shit fo' brains. An' Roguey, y' got a helluva lot goin' on up dere, I t'ink. I t'ink yo' lettin' de sappy dialogue get t' y', and dere ain't not'in wrong wit' bad dialogue when it comes wit' good special effects an' sarcasm, but dat book's jus' stupid. Not on de level o' stupid o' Romeo and Juliet, but-"

Rogue choked, coughing slightly as she grabbed a nearby magazine to throw at him.

"Oh, c'mon, dey were jus' stupid kids who found excuses t' knock t'emselves off!" he said, catching the magazine out of the air and thumbing through it to look at the girls in swimsuits. He looked up. "Belle t'ought it was romantic, too. T'ink it's a girl t'ing. She gave me a black eye when I laughed through the movie."

Rogue looked up. "Yeah, well, I laughed at parts of the one with diCaprio, too-"

"Nah, de old one."

She eyed him skeptically. "All through it?"

"Yup. Almost choked on de popcorn."

She shook her head. "You're so goin' ta hell," she said, both disbelievingly and teasingly.

"Oui. I know."

Rogue looked down at her book, lifting it as she tried once more to get through the first line.

Remy drummed his fingers on the chair, looking at the book, then at her. "So what is it y' wanna know 'bout me?"

She stopped, looking around the book at him with a gaze full of skepticism and confusion.

"Well, obviously yo' curious 'bout me," he said, gesturing to the book.

Rogue, wondering what the hell she was reading, flipped quickly to the cover. _The Art of Chess_ was emblazoned on the jacket, with the picture of a game board and a pair playing. "Is everything always about you?" she wondered absently, before turning back to the book.

Remy paused, considering this. "Y' never played chess?"

She ignored him.

"Y' want to learn?" he persisted.

"No," Rogue managed politely, before looking back down.

He tilted his head at her, dampened hair falling into his eyes. "Yo' jus' holdin' a book 'tween me an' you fo' de sake o' havin' somet'in 'tween me an' you, aren't y'?"

She didn't bother to dignify that with a response. Boy, did she have a headache.

"A gambit's a chess move. A sacrifice," he said in explanation, "that helps y' get t' wear y' want t' be."

He waited for her response, and silence dragged on until, squirming inwardly, she looked up. "Thought cards is your game."

He grinned, ringing out the silk scarlet shirt absently in his hands. "Chess is mon pere's." He remained silent again, but though she was itching to know what he was getting at, this time she didn't take the bait. When she'd stayed silent for longer than he liked, Remy started up again. "Strategy. He made me play it 'gainst him, regular like. Till I was good. Ne'er as good as him, but better than Henri."

He waited for the question, but didn't get it. "Mon frere. Older. Better man den me." Again, he paused, giving her time, but continued without prompting. He shot her a cat's grin. "But I'm de better t'ief."

Rogue could tell he was leading to some point here, almost trying to tell her something, but she didn't know what. She didn't have a brother.

"Better den my cousins, too. But dey-"

"Which one's in Quebec?" Rogue interrupted, looking up to meet his eyes.

His gaze met hers unflinchingly. "Etienne. Yo'll like 'im."

"What makes yah think that?" she asked, slightly grumpily.

"Yo' liked Bobby right enough. T'ink a couple times less mature, multiplied by three and given all kinds o' stuff t' help 'em steal t'ings, an' y' get my cousins. Oh, and add in a dash o' me. So maybe yo' wouldn't like 'im," he considered musingly.

Rogue, grudgingly, admitted, "Ah don't not like yah."

"Y' like me, den."

"Didn't say that, did Ah?"

"Gotta be one or the other," he insisted.

"Don't try ta pin down what Ah am or what Ah think," she warned. "Ah don't like yah. But Ah don't dislike yah either, all right?"

Childishly, he crossed his arms and made a face at her. "How's Remy supposed t' get y' t' like him, den?"

She set the book down, frowning. "Nobody makes me do anything."

"Well, I'm trying, anyhow," he complained.

"Since when?" Rogue challenged, shaking her head. Her feet were growing numb. Easily, she reached down to tug on her socks and began to pull on her boots.

He blinked. "Since de night before my lil' lover's spat wit' Belle. Remember? We had a conversation without insulting each other."

Her frown deepened. "Yah're sure?"

He considered. "Non. Could've insulted y', y' could've insulted me. But neit'er of us has said anyt'ing too mean, so it don't really matter, non? Hell, I like it when women are mad at me."

"That explains a lot," Rogue muttered.

Remy's grin widened. "Now, look, we stuck together, aren't we?"

She eyed him. "Not realleh."

His grin faded as if it had its own disappearing trick. "How y' mean?"

Rogue shrugged, pale face devoid of visible emotion. "Ah latched onto yah from Belle's memories. And 'cause o' her, yah let meh. We each got problems enough to spread us over several frying pans. And now Ah think we're still hanging around each other 'cause we ain't got nowhere better to go and we're that damn book's got both of us in it, and Ah reckon yah've got some kinda safe place ta stick me and maybe yourself, 'cause otherwise we'll be on the lam from crazies who want our heads on platters to the end of days, whether we can stand each other or not."

His features sharpened. "Y' t'inkin' y' best off ditchin' a Cajun likely t' blow y' up, den?" he asked her in a darker tone.

Her eyes widened, surprised. "Ah'm the useless one, remember?" she said with a bitter tinge. "C'mon, yah've made it quite clear Ah'm 'crampin' yah style', wasn't it? It's plain Ah'm slowin' yah down."

"Hardly," he said, shaking his head. "I don' often spend my nights actually coverin' ground."

Her brows furrowed. "Ah kinda thought that was part of the problem," she mentioned, a slight taunt in her tone.

He licked his chapped lips. "Weeelll," he drew out, pained to admit it. "May not like it as much, but I'm better off."

"Uh-huh. And you'll keep believing you're better off indefinitely?"

His face changed at this. "Chere, I ne'er t'ink about indefinites. Not when it's a question whet'er you'll be 'round tomorrow. I'm a one day at a time sorta man. Can't see no fart'er dan Quebec right now. Get there, den we t'ink 'bout what's next."

Rogue looked at him, considering how odd it was to hear the word we with her included. It was an unusual experience for her. She studied his features, too handsome for his own good, which had the slight edge of fatigue about them but a great deal of sheer simplicity reflected in his relaxed gaze. She chewed slightly on her lower lip, noticing how his eyes picked up on that slightest gesture, undoubtedly analyzing it in one way or another. She liked longer-term plans than that, but at the moment… why bother? Slowly, she nodded. "All right," she agreed in her Southern twang.

He started to say something, but was struck by a shiver. "Shit," he mumbled, his teeth chattering slightly. The lack of heat was beginning to sweep through the building. He grabbed at his soaking silk shirt and cursed again. "Should'a t'ought t' have swiped more den one shirt, non?" He turned his head slightly, eyes skittering slyly in her direction. "If I weren't in de prescence of a lady, might very well pull my shirt off. But I got de feeling you'd cry bloody murder at me, whet'er y' object t' de sight or not…"

Rogue, meeting his gaze crossly, reached over to the small selection on display on a nearby shelf and grabbed another book. With a little difficulty turning the pages with her gloved hand, she opened to the first page. Looking down, she responded off-hand, "Yah're pushin' it, Cajun."

He frowned. "Am I? Don' mean t' be."

"Ah'll bet."

"Nah, really," he said, looking offended as he held his hands up in surrender. He leaned in, towards her. "How'm I supposed t' be? Whatcha want me t' do t' quit annoyin' y'?" He edged still farther forward in his chair, not half an arm's breadth away. His dark eyes rimmed with equally dark lashes studied her. "I ain't de strong an' silent type, chere. I don' shut up easy."

"Yeah," she offered dryly. "Ah had an inkling."

"Well, y' aren't a mute yo'self," he retorted, flashing his teeth in a quick grin. "Most times, I found mouthin' off gets me quieted in ways pleasant…" his gaze drifted off for a second, the corner of his lip turning up, until Rogue's stifled laugh jerked him back, "and, uh, not so pleasant." He rubbed his nose sheepishly. "Y' heard de phrase 'many a time a man's mouth broke his nose?' Well, dey were talkin' 'bout ol' Gambit."

Rogue's gaze flickered idly between him and her book before settling on the latter. "Doesn't look as if it's been broken. But yah could probably afford a plastic surgeon, right?"

"Still don' know how y' figured dat one out," he muttered, shaking his head. "How y' know I jus' ne'er been in a place wit' plumbing or some – hey, I ne'er had no doc tinkerin' wit' m' features! Mon Tante's a g-"

"Your arrogance, that's how," she said, and without taking her eyes from the book reached out to shove him in the chest, as he'd managed to get far too close. "All cocky about some things and confused about others, so yah weren't always. And Belle just screams old money." Pausing, she unsuccessfully tried to turn the thin page with her gloved fingers. Remy's hand, instinctively, moved to turn it for her. She snagged it before he got there, releasing it at once and pulling the book towards her. "Stop doing that," she hissed, standing up.

"But I'm tryin' t' be nice," he responded in exasperation, leaping to his own feet with ease. "C'mon, whatcha want Remy t' do-"

"Don't switch into that third-person, first string quarterback mumbo jumbo on meh," she warned, a darkness flaring in her green eyes. "Don't pull that shit on meh. Ah like doin' things mahself, since yah obviously didn't notice. Heck, some stuff Ah _need_ t' do mahself, hear? An' plus, what yah're passin' off as chivalry is in mah opinion just some handy lil' tricks yah've picked up on gettin' into a girl's pants, an' yah're just incapable of turnin' it off. Ah don't find it charming, an' it ticks me off, so _knock it off_."

He looked at her, eyes blazing with something reminiscent of anger, which disappeared as he shrugged. "Dat's true, dat I do dat," he commented. The faint lines around his eyes furrowed in concern. "Truer den I like any femme t' recognize, really. Sure, 's plain enough I ain't no white knight on a shinin' horse or de other way 'round, but I don' see why y' won't lemme get away wit' de lil' t'ings." He stepped closer, scrutinizing her as if her features would let him figure her out. His tone became more urgent, and she backed up. "Damn, fille, what is it wit' y'? How come y' don' jus' lemme pretend t' be a better man den I am? How come y' see I'm pretending? De femmes let me, e'en de one's dat see through me. But not de Rogue. Makes me wonder how come." He looked her up and down, then lowered his voice. "Y' do like men, chere?"

The sloping curve of her white cheeks blazed as suddenly rose red as if he'd held a lit candle by each, matching the color of the still-pink rim of her eyes. Her shoulders drew up and squared slightly as her eyes narrowed, and her lips turned up mockingly in a way that worried him. "Sure thing, sugah, Ah like men right enough. Obviously it don't matter much, but yeah, ain't no doubt 'bout that. Just 'cause Ah don' happen ta agree with your belief that yah're hotter than the flames o' Hades and more irresistible than baby's blood ta a skeeter in the heat of July-"

"Oh, nice metaphor dere," Remy interjected, rolling his eyes.

"Ah, shove it, rich or not yah're as much of a hick as meh and yah'll gawd damn listen up," Rogue continued with flaring contempt, rolling her own eyes right back. "Ah don't like liars and Ah don't like fakes an' frankly, Ah don' like bullies, an' you got a touch of that in yah too 'cause yah're all too quick to try ta hurt somebody else when you've been stung, an' plus, yah're annoyin' and you don't listen for that matter either." Her eyes locked on his furiously. "Ah may need yah're help 'cause Ah've been dealt a bad hand, but Ah don't want your pity and Ah don't want you tryin' to make me think well of you just 'cause it'll make you feel better 'bout yourself. Ah'm not an idiot, an' Ah'm not a kid or a guy or Belle or one of your little flirtations or whatever yah call 'em either. Stop playin' a part!"

His lips drew to a tight little circle as his cheekbones tightened, his eyebrows drawing low over his glinting eyes. The downward tilt of his head made his face look almost triangular. "I am de part, chere. Whatcha see's-"

"No, yah're wearing about a kazillion masks and yah switch 'em back and forth, and Ah'm bettin' there's tons more even Ah haven't seen. Ah'm not sayin' there's some sweet wounded soul or anything stupid like that hidden, all Ah'm sayin' is yah adjust yourself ta what people want or expect," Rogue insisted, slapping one hand down once on the book in emphasis.

"Don't try m' wit' dat mumbo jumbo, y' ain't no head doctor," he said, voice darkening.

"See? See?" she said triumphantly. "Yah did it right there! Got ticked off and switched from one to another! You try to act like you're some kinda loner, but you're gonna tell me you don't care what others think about you? You gear everything towards making people like you, except with me, Ah'm gettin' the feeling some part of you wants you to hate me!" She gestured with the open book in her hand.

"Funny dis lil' lecture's comin' from you, sweetie. Seein' as yo' de same way. And y' don't even make no sense," he complained angrily. "Y' want me t' go way or open up? 'M tryin' t' getcha t' like y' are t' hate me? Tell m', 'cause 'm in de dark here."

Her jaw clenched. "Ah don't care whatcha do, though yeah, it'd make me happier if Ah could read mah book in peace for five seconds-"

"Quiet don' make peace."

"It does for meh! Ah can see through your damn charade. You don't want ta tell me 'bout your childhood or your family or, hell, yahr career or romantic life like you're hintin' at ever so subtly." She tilted her head, a dampened lock that was curling up falling into her eyes. "Yah're tryin' ta pull a fast one. Don't know what the purpose is, but yah are, and that's that."

He winked, not in a pleasant way. "Well, weren't it fo' yo' powers, chere, Remy'd be doin' it t' get y' t' uncross dose legs o' yours. No matter how tight dey be locked. Real shame 'bout dat pretty skin o' yours."

Instinctively, her arm looped around and she slugged him, her blow glancing against his jaw and jerking his chin up. He let her, hand going up to it carelessly to tap the sore spot. Rogue shook her head, hair drifting about her inflamed face. "Why you wanna be knocked about so bad!" she cried, hands balls into fists at her side. "Dumbass."

He laughed slightly, a deep harsh sound in his throat. "Oh yeah, chere, I really want y' hittin' me, e'en if yo' gloves cushion de blow. Mary, mot'er o' God," he said sarcastically, licking his dry lips. "Fine. Y' wanted t' be left alone, didn'cha?" He turned away, adjusting the folds of his wet shirt and snatching up his trench coat vindictively. "Go 'head. Read yo' book. I'll jus'- find m' own entertainment till we can get outta here. Y' sure as hell ain't gonna be de one providin' it."

Sighing, Rogue started, "Rem-" but halted. "Fine," she called after him as he sauntered off through the bookshelves. "Yah're gonna be a jackass and then sulk about it, fahne. Just 'cause you don't wanna hear it don't make it less true. Whatevah your game is, Ah'm sick of it. Far more messed up then Ah'll ever be, that's for damn sure." He shot a glare back at her before rounding a turn and disappearing from sight. "Ah'm getting what Ah want, anyway," she said, voice fading to more of a mutter as she plopped back down, opening up the book.

It took her a moment to start really reading, too distracted at first to get past the opening paragraph of the mystery novel. Time seemed as if it was passing, but according to the clock on the wall, much slower than she'd thought. The book wasn't holding her interest well, but she ventured on. It'd get better. If it didn't, she always had the option of ditching it and grabbing a new one. There were plenty of books.

A soft noise behind her made her spin, almost expectantly. She looked around, hair spinning as she turned her neck rapidly in the directions.

It took her a moment to realize it had just been her bomber jacket slipping off the back of the chair. Slowly, she picked it up.

A clicking noise from the other side of the library drew her attention, and after a moment of listening to the swishing sounds, Rogue realized Gambit was practicing with his bo staff. She considered this. She wondered what he expected her to do. How he figured she played into his strategy. His game. He was getting too damn close for comfort, all the time. Maybe he'd get the message and step back…….

Why was it a part of her didn't want him to?

Ignoring the sound of Gambit apparently hitting books out of the air, she turned back to her own book, tucking her legs onto the chair as she likewise tucked a strand of white behind her ear. "Whatever," she muttered, and with small difficulty, turned the page with her gloved hand. Her other hand toyed with the dogtags on her neck, creating a rhythmic, comforting jangling noise in the stillness around her.

She was halfway through the book when there came a pounding from the direction of the library's see-through entrance doors.

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**Review Responses**:

**ishandahalf**- Yeah… another chapter with more emotion and less action… but action'll be back in a while. Glad you thought that worked out last chapter, though I'm really less sure about this one… Your reviews are so much fun- hoped your psych paper worked out all right, despite its evilness- shudder. Uck. School. It'd be nice if they appreciated X-Men and fanfiction and gave us points for taking initiative as authors, but, yeah, right. Very glad you enjoyed it…. And Belle'll be running into some more problems sooner or later, but with any luck, our heroes won't be seeing her for a while… they've got enough on their plates. Yup, Rogue kinda needed a breakdown. Inevitable. Made it a bit harder to write this chapter, though… always difficult to pick up from a scene like that…. But, really, who wouldn't want their own personal Gambit to hold them when they cry?... um, okay, probably _not_ most guys, but I meant of the female variety… okay, well, I shouldn't make generalizations. Mutant haters and Sentinels are definitely going to be major issues for a while now… now if they can only get to Canada, where everything will be all better,…..right?... but, yeah, with Remy's problems, Sinister'll have to become involved sooner or later- but this is an AU, so look for 'em when you'd least expect him and in a kinda surprising way (well, hopefully, anyhow)…. Though it seems the bunny might have OD'd, considering the time this required…actually, died from withdrawl's probably the more apt analogy…. That's okay, I picked up a new one at Bunny Village and will remember to give this one it's crack on time!

**enchantedlight**- Hey, cool, I felt extra-special 'cause you said you loved the chapter as opposed to it being great! Makes me feel like that chapter was extra fab. ;) As always, appreciate your faithful review immensely.

**simba317**- Lion King is still one of the bestest movies ever. I wanted to go see the musical when it was in town, 'cause I saw it in Toronto a few years back now and it was excellent…. But we forgot. Typical. I really enjoy your reviews, not only are they delightfully long, you did this neat analysis of the chapter and commented on little things I really like sticking in… Made me very happy. You're probably gonna want to kill me for this chapter… yup, they are growing on each other, but it's in both of their nature to kinda keep people at arm's distance, so I kinda needed to deal with that… but her being a minor, and him legal, probably not so much of an issue as the powers thing- and people ignore that all the time, plus Remy? Not so much concerned with breaking the law. But yeah, slowly but surely, inch by inch, step by step, the relationship's coming. Wolverine'll probably be helpful, once the urge to slice and dice subsides...you're absolutely right about how he, Remy and Rogue all do like each other and are a lot alike- but won't admit it- especially Logan and Gambit (God forbid they appear to get along!)…. Logan, whether he's French Canadian or not (his past, as always, questionable) has, I figured, presumably been around long enough to speak French…the comics showed he speaks Spanish, anyhow… my original update actually had a mistake, which I fixed, not sure which version you read- Belle was supposed to insult him in French, and that's when he said it, but I had the insult in Eng. as a placemarker, and… forgot. (looks sheepish). Which makes it make a lot more sense, anyway. Bobby means well… but he's an idiot. Loveable, but an idiot. And Gambit as a Jedi I can so see, especially as he's got the long trench coat, which does the same sweeping thing as the long Jedi cloaks- it was too classic not to do a comparison. And the pictures were actually Mariko's and Natasha's. Jean's too young- none of them have met her yet- so I went with another red-head, green-eyed woman Logan's had a relationship w/. Rogue really should have listened to Betsy… she's not too good at listening. But am extremely glad the whole last scene went over so well…. I liked it lots, myself.

**jade**- Thanks so much for your comments, especially on the action scenes, 'cause I really enjoy writing those tremendously… sorry this chapter took so long, but hey, to hear that I rock is a huge ego boost, so I'm very glad you like my story and hope you continue to!

**Elf16**- Your suggestion of a remedy was awful helpful- but don't worry, I've been better for a good long time- just extremely busy. Hope the website was a help to you… especially since I'm throwing in even more X-folk. But yeah, you hit the nail on the head with Rogue- she hates being vulnerable, and yet, with such close-range powers, she's often got very little choice. Wolverine's one of my favorites- he'll be catching up eventually, though I'll in all likelihood use him again first, just 'cause I can't resist…. He's too much fun. I'm not super-familiar with Betsy myself, just love what I always have seen of her, and she was the perfect choice for what I plan for her… so seeing as I probably don't know too much more, it shouldn't be too hard to follow at all. And your comment that you'd peg me as somebody who reads when ill- dead on. Only problem was I ran through my library books and I'd just reread my favorites and felt way too miserable to even stare at the page…. To say I read a lot could be considered the understatement of my life  I go a little berserk when I get a new load of library books… probably why I like fanfiction so much- so many stories… so little time…

**Friend to All**- love-hate is so much fun… and it really is such a funny thing in life. Thanks for your compliments and hope my story continues to live up to them!

**Purity Black**- Humor and action really do go hand in hand… probably why action scenes are so much more fun, really… I laughed aloud on your take on the knife polish- ah, I would love to see a commercial for that, or the expression on my sibling's face should I buy some- wait, scratch that, my father could then leave it around to scare off prospective guys who might like me who he doesn't like…. Betsy rocks. I spent quite a while trying to get her and Sean and Rahne down, and now for plot reasons I can't play around with them for a while…grrrr. I'm managing to torture myself, that's real clever. But jeez… the walk home, that would be something to see… particularly since Rahne'd probably be the only sober one… Yup, the Brotherhood are around, though causing more long-distance damage- finding Lance cute even as he's inflicting damage, hmm……… I so see that. Glad you liked that I cut around- I have a tendency to do that, and I swore to myself I wouldn't, but yup- ended up doing it anyways, and probably will continue to do so… it lengthens the chapter and adds needed space/ time between things, but also takes longer to get up, but really, I think skipping around's part of whatever style I've got, so I'm glad you liked how I did it. I liked all your thoughts about Remy and Rogue, especially as they were exactly what I was hoping for… though I didn't think of him trying not to be manipulative. With Remy, I think it's more about not being viewed as manipulative, but you're right- it kinda was. I'm very glad you thought well of the chapter, especially since you gave such a long review! I appreciate it tremendously- heck, if you need that beer, drinks are on me! ;)

**Val**- Glad the chapter wasn't a disappointment, hope this one wasn't either and hope you do find it again! ;) Thanks for reviewing!

**Mrs. Rogue LeBeau**- Yeah... Remy can be really sweet... gotta love Tante Mattie's influence! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Tim**- thanks for reading and reviewing, don't worry- I'll slip more action in soon. ;)

**Kerin-Sama**- Bobby'll be around, but I don't think he'll be meeting up with Rogue an' Remy for a while- but glad you like it, hope you continue to!

**unknown**- thanks for reviewing, so so sorry it took so extremely long to update!

**UncannyAsianGirl**- Those Evo eps have been a tremendous help, plus lots of fun, though I've been so busy, I haven't gotten to watch a couple yet… if you get the chance, tell me how far you reckon I'm off on the X-Men characters I was trying for this time around… Look! I beat you by updating again! Ooooohhh, you owe me reviews…. ;)


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